

















































ALMOST FIFTEEN 


By 

GRACE IRWIN 

Little Miss Redhead 
Under Summer Skies 
Almost Fifteen 


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“How do I look?” Flopsy asked. 





























Almost Fifteen 


By 

Grace Irwin 

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Pictures by the Author 


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Lothrop, Lee and Shepard Company 

Boston 1938 New York 


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Copyright 1938 


BY LOTHROP, LEE AND SHEPARD COMPANY 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be re¬ 
produced in any form without permission in writing 
from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes 
to quote brief passages in connection with a review 
written for inclusion in magazine or newspaper. 


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v 


©ClA 1 19960 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



1938 


To my three nieces 

Phyllis, Sally Ann and Marcia 









CONTENTS 


I. Guest Towels 15 

II. Flopsy Is Perplexed 41 

III. Much Ado About Everything 64 

IV. Initiation 89 

V. Flopsy’s Black Eye 115 

VI. Surprises for Flopsy 141 

VII. Christmas Presents 160 

VIII. High Finance 186 

IX. Babbie to the Rescue 211 

X. Flopsy’s First Evening Gown 239 









ALMOST FIFTEEN 








Chapter One 

Guest Towels 


F LOPSY MOORE was almost completely satisfied 
with life on that dreary Monday afternoon after 
the Thanksgiving holidays. She sat, swinging 
her legs, on the wall which enclosed the grounds of 
the Alexander Hamilton High School. Her own head 
of shining curls, the color of burnished copper, was the 
only bright spot in the dismal scene. But Flopsy’s 
thoughts were gay as she waited impatiently for her 
schoolmates, Alice Holt and Fleurette Muldoon. 

It was fun being a Sophomore B, she decided, after 
having momentarily weighed the joys and sorrows of 
that advanced status, and then the important plan for 
the afternoon consumed all her attention. The three 
girls were to call on Mrs. David Stewart, their former 
Eighth Grade teacher, in her new home. Not one of 
them had seen Mrs. Stewart recently, but there was 
an even more exciting objective to this visit. For the 
first time the girls were going to see Mrs. Stewart’s 
very new baby! 

Flopsy could scarcely sit still as, speculating on the 
baby’s probable name, she watched the front doors of 
the High School carefully. Her purpose in being es¬ 
pecially alert was twofold. She not only wanted to see 
Fleurette and Alice at the first possible moment, but 

is 


16 Almost Fifteen 

she was also anxious not to be seen by any of the 
teachers. She knew that it was strictly against the 
rules for her to sit on the wall, and in addition she had 
been excused from her last class because she had 
pleaded a headache. No teacher could be convinced 
that a really severe headache could have disappeared 
so quickly! 

There they were! Flopsy jumped to the ground and 
ran toward her friends. As she wriggled her way in and 
out among the groups of chattering students, she was 
stopped by three girls. 

“Wait a minute, Flopsy! Wait—” and one of them 
caught her by the arm. 

Flopsy stood still a little impatiently. She mustn’t, 
she simply mustn’t lose Fleurette and Alice. It would 
be terrible. 

“I want to pay my class dues—I keep forgetting— 
and forgetting—and forgetting!” The girl dug into her 
purse and handed Flopsy a dime. “I guess I’m paid 
up now.” 

“I guess you are,” Flopsy answered vaguely, her 
eyes still on Fleurette and Alice. Oh, she mustn’t lose 
them, she mustn’t. 

“And I’ll pay, too, while I’m about it,” one of the 
other girls opened her purse. “How much do I owe?” 

“Well—” Flopsy tried to control her impatience. 
“I really don’t know. I’ll have to look it up in my book. 
I’ll tell you tomorrow.” Fleurette and Alice were head¬ 
ing, at top speed, down a path in the opposite direc¬ 
tion! “Do you mind?” Flopsy apologized as she tried 
to get away, “I’ve simply got to catch up to Alice 
Holt. We have a date,” 


Guest Towels 17 

“M pay for next month,” and the third girl started 
to put her hand in her pocket. 

“Oh, don’t please!” Flopsy begged frantically. 
“That makes it too—too—” she broke off. Jinks! 
This was terrible! She was having a fearful time keep¬ 
ing track of past dues and she simply couldn’t risk 
any further complications. The future accounting she 
must give as class treasurer was something that she 
didn’t care to contemplate. It made her head genuinely 
ache. It positively made her ill. Who were these girls, 
anyway? In despair, Flopsy felt she must take the 
time to ask their names, even if she were to lose 
Fleurette and Alice. 

“Tell me,” she went on, with what she fervently 
hoped was a business-like air, “what are your names?” 
Flopsy asked as though she were vitally interested, but 
this question seemed to annoy the three girls. 

“I am Lois Crane. You know me. You do, really. 
Don’t you remember? I helped you with your Latin 
one day last week.” 

“Oh, that’s right!” Flopsy tried to grin, but it was 
rather sickly. She didn’t remember. Anyway, how 
could this girl have helped her with Latin? No one 
in this wide world could. She was past all help. And 
she’d nearly have to break her neck to catch Fleurette 
and Alice. Flopsy groaned to herself, “Why don’t they 
stand still?” 

“And I’m Elsie Martin. I sit two seats away from 
you in French.” 

“Lois Crane and Elsie Martin,” Flopsy repeated 
slowly. She took a pencil out of her pocket, but its 
point was broken. She was going to write this down 


18 Almost Fifteen 

immediately. That’s what her mother had ordered her 
to do. Write it down at once! 

“Lois Crane, Elsie Martin.” She looked for all the 
world as though she were writing the names on a page 
in her loose-leaf notebook. “You know,” she explained, 
still writing, “Alice Holt and Fleurette Muldoon and 
I are going to call on Miss Hilton, our Eighth Grade 
teacher at School Number Nine. And those two sim¬ 
pletons are supposed to be waiting for me. Look at 
them, just look at them racing up the street! I hope 
they trip!” Flopsy banged her notebook shut. “I’ll 
give you your receipts in the morning. Please, please 
ask for them,” she begged. She never yet had refused 
to give a receipt to anyone who had asked for it. She 
blithely tossed them around. Writing them out was 
quite the simplest part of this business of being treas¬ 
urer. 

“They are standing still now, Flopsy.” Lois smiled. 
Lois admired Flopsy. She really did want to stop and 
talk with her, and Flopsy’s failure to remember her 
name was completely forgiven. 

“Well, it’s about time. I had visions of falling right 
on my nose chasing them up the street.” Flopsy flashed 
a broad and dazzling grin, showing a dimple in one 
cheek. She touched her nose. “I’d hate to break my 
nose. It’s right in the center of the only face I have.” 
She started off, and then whirled about. “Thank you, 
Lois, and thank you, Elsie, very much for your dues. 
I’ll give you both receipts in the morning. But if I 
forget, just be sure to ask me.” Flopsy raised one 
hand in a salute. “Bye!” she sang out as she dashed 
up the street. 


Guest Towels 19 

Lois and Elsie stood looking after her. 

“Let’s see if she catches them,” Lois commented. 
“I think she’s a riot. She keeps our Latin class in 
stitches. She’s taking first year Latin for the second 
time. She says she’s better than she was last year, 
but I can’t see how she can be. She’s terrible! I just 
switched to Latin this year, but I can help her,” Lois 
boasted. 

Flopsy, in an undignified sprint, had gotten within 
earshot of Fleurette and Alice. With her heart still 
pounding, she sputtered breathlessly, “What was the 
big idea of racing up the street? Why didn’t you wait 
for me, you idiots?” 

“Several girls said you ducked out of gym before the 
class was over, and Fleurette got it into her head that 
you’d said you’d meet us at Mrs. Stewart’s. Then we 
met some one else who said they had seen you waiting 
for some one. You’re an idiot yourself,” Alice almost 
snapped. Then they all laughed. The happy experience 
ahead of them put them all in good humor. The three 
girls swung up the street in radiant spirits. 

“We saw you, Flopsy Moore, back there talking 
to some girls as though you had all the time in the 
world.” 

“Just two girls paying their class dues. I was rip¬ 
ping! I am going to make a rule that you can only 
pay your dues during the meetings. This way is—” she 
hesitated. Not for anything would she admit that it 
was far, far too hard for her to keep her accounts in 
order! “It’s just a nuisance. I don’t carry my treas¬ 
urer’s book around with me—” 

“I don’t see how you keep anything straight,” Fleur- 


20 Almost Fifteen 

ette laughed, “I’d get into a perfect mess. I bet if I 
were treasurer I’d be put in jail, and they’d throw the 
key away.” 

Flopsy looked at her horrified. What a ghastly 
thought that was! She shivered! But she did not 
care to go on with the subject. She changed it abruptly. 

“Did you see Janet Dudley when she was home last 
week?” Flopsy turned to Alice. “She telephoned to 
thank me for my last letter. But she was so—so— 
rushed she couldn’t see me.” There was an edge of 
sarcasm in Flopsy’s voice. 

“I know some one who saw her,” Fleurette broke in, 
“and they said she’d plucked her eyebrows!” 

“All of them?” Flopsy giggled. “She must look at 
least peculiar!” 

“Not all of them!” Alice put in quickly. “/ saw her. 
But she’s changed. She’s changed a lot. She has a new 
raccoon coat. You’d think she was nearly eighteen, 
honestly. She’s really only just fifteen. She was with 
a boy in a uniform—” 

“Was he a boy scout, or Western Union?” Fleurette 
chirped. 

“He was not! He’s from some very swanky military 
academy up on the Hudson River.” 

“Didn’t you talk to her?” Flopsy asked breathlessly. 
She hoped not. Alice always acted as though Janet 
belonged to her. She loved to boast about knowing her. 

“No, only for a minute. She had every minute taken 
up for the whole holiday. Janet just seems to live in 
another world from us. She has more boy friends!!!” 

The time had come to change the subject again. 
Flopsy had had enough of this angle too. It wasn’t as 



Guest Towels 21 

depressing as the job of being treasurer, but she knew 
that if it went on, she’d get exceedingly bored. 
“Bored” was what she thought she’d be, although 
“peeved” would have been a better word. After all, 
Janet wrote to her more than she ever did to Alice, 
and Janet loved to read Flopsy’s letters to her room 
mate. She could write a very funny letter, Flopsy 
admitted to herself unblushingly. 

“What do you suppose Miss Hilton’s baby’s name 
is?” Flopsy introduced the question lightly. This ought 
to be a safe topic. 

“Well, Hilton wouldn’t be one of them, you crazy 
goose. You never call her Mrs. Stewart. Never! And 
you were a bridesmaid at her wedding. She’s been 
married now for way over a year and you ought to be 
used to it by now.” 

“I bet it will be Barbara. What do you bet?” Fleur- 
ette put in. 

“We won’t bet. I am sure it will be Barbara. It 
simply has to be!” Flopsy announced. 

This emphatic statement was not contradicted. The 
three girls were in perfect accord. Their former teacher 
simply must name her baby after her young sister, 
Barbara Hilton, who was just their age. She had grad¬ 
uated with them from School Number Nine. Her ap¬ 
pearance on the platform that night was the most 
dramatic and exciting thing that had ever happened at 
any graduation. It was a thrill that had made all of 
them tingle, right down to their toes. Although “Miss 
Hilton” had often talked of her ranch home out West, 
in a place called Rawhide, and of a young sister Bar¬ 
bara who still lived there, she had in no way prepared 


22 Almost Fifteen 

her pupils for the surprise on the night of their gradu¬ 
ation. 

Flopsy was the only one in the class who had been 
in on this precious secret. “Miss Hilton” had been 
absent from school, due to illness, a few weeks before 
the end of the term. Her class had had a substitute, and 
a “substitute” had meant to them only an opportunity 
for riotous fun. “Miss Hilton” had heard of their be¬ 
havior, and it had made her very unhappy. Were her 
pupils endangering their chances of getting diplomas by 
wasting time right before their final examinations? She 
loved her little redhaired pupil, Flopsy Moore, but she 
felt quite certain that none of her other pupils had 
been up to more mischief during her absence. So “Miss 
Hilton” had sent for her. Flopsy knew that if she were 
to live to be a hundred and fifty years old, she would 
never forget that visit. 

Gently “Miss Hilton” had told her of Barbara, or 
Babbie, who had never been to any school. Several 
years earlier, she had fallen from a bucking horse 
and for a long time it seemed as though she might 
never walk again. Now, she was quite well. During 
that year Babbie’s greatest happiness had been to 
make believe she was in her sister’s class. Her sister 
had sent her the lessons just as though she were right 
in the classroom with the other girls and boys. Babbie 
had been an amazing student, and “Miss Hilton” had 
proudly shown her work to friends on the Board of 
Education. It was they who planned the dramatic con¬ 
clusion to the graduation exercises. Babbie came East 
to receive her diploma with the other graduates from 
Number Nine! 

There was one thrill that was Flopsy’s very own. 


Guest Towels 23 

Babbie had chosen her as her “best friend” long before 
that exciting graduation. She had loved nothing better 
than to have her sister write about redhaired Flopsy 
Moore. Flopsy was quite the most amusing and inter¬ 
esting girl she had ever heard of. This was a big sur¬ 
prise, but it deeply touched Flopsy and made her 
humble, yet proud. 

Yes, there could be no other name for “Miss Hil¬ 
ton’s” baby than Barbara! 

“And—” Flopsy went on after her announcement, 
“don’t you miss Babbie? I wish she’d come back.” 

“When will she?” Fleurette asked. 

“When they sell the ranch. That’s why they went 
back. And just as soon as Miss Hilton is well enough, 
or the baby is big enough, or something, Miss Hilton 
and her husband and the baby are going to fly out 
to the ranch and stay there for a while.” 

Suddenly, without any warning, heavy flakes of soft 
wet snow began to fall. 

The three girls let out wild whoops of joy. 

“Snow!” Flopsy yelled. “Coasting!” 

Alice squealed, “My hair’s getting soaked!” 

“Who cares?” Fleurette mocked good-naturedly. 

“Well, I do,” Alice shouted. “I just had it set!” 

“That’s what you get for having a permanent wave,” 
Flopsy teased. She had been a little envious of Alice’s 
“permanent,” a feeling which her mother had noticed 
and ridiculed. “What a silly attitude. Anyone should 
be happy to have naturally curly hair,” Mrs. Moore 
had said. But Flopsy wanted to go to the beauty shop 
to have her hair “set.” All the girls did. They were 
forever talking about it. She eyed her friend’s hair 
with gleeful malice. Maybe it would turn frizzy. Alice 



Flopsy held one hand over her head 









Guest Towels 25 

planted her school books on her head and walked 
primly. Flopsy, for the moment, felt cheated. She 
was not to enjoy seeing Alice’s hair get kinky. Sud¬ 
denly, Flopsy realized that her own hair was getting 
very wet, and remembered that she had carefully ar¬ 
ranged her curls in just the exact way she wanted 
them. She followed Alice’s example. Her books began 
to slide at once, and the rings on her notebook caught. 
She put up her hand and held the books in place. 

“Alice, you are walking like a stick. We’ll never 
get there.” Flopsy took a few steps ahead. This was 
fun. It was so silly. 

Fleurette held one hand over her head. She, too, 
had naturally curly hair, and she had just adopted a 
new “hair comb.” She had no desire to have it “simply 
ruined.” 

“This isn’t too funny!” Flopsy yelped. “We are 
going to look like drowned rats. Let’s run.” 

The others took her suggestion at once, but Flopsy, 
herself, tried still another plan. She attempted to run, 
still holding her books on her head. They slid from 
beneath her hand, and fell on the wet, dirty pavement. 

“Oh—o—o—” Flopsy groaned, and shut her eyes. 
“I can’t look. Tell me what happened. Break it to 
me gently. Do you see a piece of paper with algebra 
homework on it face downward in the mud? Quick! ” 

“Ask us pretty please, and we’ll look.” Fleurette 
and Alice were hysterical with laughter. They bent 
down and looked over the sorry mess. The loose-leaf 
notebook was spattered with mud, and so were a lot 
of papers. 

Flopsy put both arms over her eyes. 


26 Almost Fifteen 

‘Til die on the spot if that paper has to be done 
over. It’s the first time in ages I’ve done my home work 
in algebra. Tell me quick. Pretty please, with sugar 
in it.” 

“We don’t like sugar. You’ll have to give us some¬ 
thing else. You have no idea what you have asked us 
to do. Almost all of your papers are sopping.” 

Flopsy kept her eyes shut. 

“Pretty please with strawberry jam on it. Pretty 
please with marmalade on it. Pretty please with fudge 
sauce.” 

“Could this be it?” Alice gasped between convulsions 
of laughter. 

“Quick!” Flopsy begged, “Tell me!” 

“Flora Moore. Algebra. December 2nd.” Fleurette 
shrieked wildly, as she read. 

“Don’t tell her yet. It might be fatal. You have to 
break the news gently.” 

Alice snickered, and then tried to speak solemnly 
“Your algebra is very sick. Oh, it looks very, very, 
sick.” 

Flopsy opened her eyes. 

“You can’t fool me. It’s dead. It’s been killed.” 
She spoke very tragically, her hand on her heart in a 
dramatic gesture. “My poor, dear algebra paper, my 
only one, the only one I’ve had in so, so long.” She 
looked down and let out a shriek. “Glory Hallelujah! 
What a sweet and priceless mess! Girls, you’ve got to 
help me. It would be contemptible to just stand there 
and laugh. You couldn’t!” 

But they could stand there and laugh, and they did. 
They laughed until they were weak and wobbly. 


Guest Towels 2 7 

“That ought to be a lesson to me! I’ll never do 
algebra again. This is what comes of it!” Flopsy 
gasped. She was trying to wipe off the covers of her 
book. “How about lending me your handkerchief? 
Mine’s positively disgusting. Look at it.” She held up 
one corner of what appeared to be a muddy rag, and, 
walking to the curb, tossed it into the gutter. Then she 
looked down at her hands and screwed up her face into 
an awful grimace. 

“Look at my hands! Oh—o—o—” she groaned, and 
made believe that she was going to wipe them off on 
her tan coat. 

The three girls went off into boisterous laughter 
again. 

“Oh, Pete! My coat! How can I carry these wet 
muddy books? My coat just came from the cleaners. 
My mother will just be ripping.” Flopsy held her 
books out in front of her. 

“It’s raining, it’s pouring,” Fleurette squealed. “Let’s 
hurry.” 

“Your hair is getting all ‘unset,’ Alice,” Flopsy sput¬ 
tered as she ran. 

The three girls dashed up the street. With only a 
short block to go, they took the long walk leading up 
to the Stewart home in flying leaps. A final spurt 
landed the three on the porch. 

“Let’s stop and get organized,” Flopsy moaned. “I’m 
heaving like a horse. Don’t you dare ring that bell, 
Alice Holt, or I’ll crown you.” 

Alice and Fleurette were wiping their feet on the door 
mat. 

“Don’t dirty that mat all up. I need a corner. I’ve 



28 Almost Fifteen 

a bright idea.” Flopsy knelt down on the floor and 
began to wipe her books on it. “Keep your big feet 
out of my way, Fleurette Muldoon!” 

The front door opened. 

“Won’t you come in, young ladies?” A maid in a 
black dress spoke in a tone as cool and crisp as her 
white apron. 

Flopsy, taken off guard, promptly lived up to her 
name and flopped right down on the door mat. Fleur¬ 
ette and Alice hysterically tried to drag her to her feet, 
but they all landed in a heap. 

“Oh, Ellen! What is it? What’s the matter?” A 
sweetly familiar voice came to them. Never had the 
three girls been more appreciative of the music in their 
former teacher’s voice. 

“You poor children, you’re soaked. Come in. Come 
in this second!” 

Almost too exhausted for words, the three girls un¬ 
scrambled themselves, and got to their feet. 

Mrs. David Stewart, or, as they had known her, 
Miss Molly Hilton, came past her maid and greeted 
her young guests enthusiastically. 

“Flopsy! What in the world?” but she never fin¬ 
ished, for they all went off into gales of laughter. 

“Flopsy was carrying her books on her head to keep 
her hair dry, and they fell off when she ran,” Alice 
managed to explain. 

“And she was wiping them on the door mat,” Fleur¬ 
ette squealed, and then began to giggle all over again. 

Meanwhile, Ellen, still in the doorway, was trying 
not to laugh. 

“Ellen, do show Miss Flopsy to the bathroom, and 


Guest Towels 29 

take her coat out to the kitchen. We’ll have to clean 
it for her.” 

Flopsy ducked her head, with an expression which 
contained both ridicule for herself and dismay. She 
would have liked to call upon Mrs. David Stewart in 
her beautiful home without doing anything embarrass¬ 
ing. 

Ellen, with the coat over her arm, led Flopsy down 
the hall. She turned her head to roll her eyes heav¬ 
enward at her two friends as she followed Ellen meekly. 
Once in the bathroom, Flopsy drew a long, deep sigh of 
relief. But the sigh turned to a frown when she saw 
herself in the mirror. 

“Ye gods and jelly fishes!” she groaned, as she be¬ 
gan to repair the damage to her precious “hair comb.” 

% 

For a few moments, Flopsy was so absorbed by her 
task that she did not hear the door open. When she 
saw the grinning faces of her two friends in the mir¬ 
ror, she whirled around. 

“Well! Well! Fancy meeting you here!” 

Fleurette closed the door quickly and tightly. The 
three girls, just as they afterward expressed it, “nearly 
died laughing.” 

“Fall into the tub, Fleurette, and crack your skull 
right open, and it will be the end of a perfect day,” 
Flopsy warned. 

“You’re such a perfect nut, Flopsy! ” Fleurette wiped 
the tears from her eyes, as she stood up. She had been 
swinging perilously on the edge of the bathtub. 

“You know what I heard!” Alice suddenly had a 
thought so impressive that it smothered her giggles. 

“What, for Pete’s sake?” Flopsy asked in alarm. If 


30 Almost Fifteen 

it were as serious as Alice’s expression indicated, she 
felt she would go right off into real hysterics—not just 
this laughing kind. 

“I heard they have five bath rooms in this house! 
And you know Janet Dudley only has three.” 

“Well,” Flopsy drew a long deep breath. “If they 
all stay where they belong, they can’t hurt me. I can’t 
stand much more. If they began to run round, I’d just 
fold right up in a heap and die.” 

“Listen, Fleurette Muldoon!” Alice ordered severely. 
“Don’t laugh at Flopsy again. Stop it! We’ve got to 
go out and act like human beings. Remember we have 
to see Mrs. Stewart’s baby.” 

So the girls combed their hair and washed their hands 
and faces. 

“Don’t you hate to use guest towels?” Flopsy com¬ 
mented, as they opened the door in a subdued silence. 
“Your hostess can tell just how dirty you were when you 
came to call on her. It’s practically a dead give away.” 

“Keep still, will you Flopsy?” Alice begged. “And 
don’t think of anything silly for a while.” 

Mrs. Stewart came to meet them. 

“What would you like to do first, go to the nursery, 
or have tea with me in the living room? Mrs. Walker, 
our nurse, said that we may go upstairs now.” 

“Oh, let’s—let’s!” 

“We want to see the baby.” 

Molly Stewart’s face beamed. She was delighted, and 
she gaily led the way up a wide staircase. Her three 
former pupils followed with solemn dignity. But their 
eyes were wandering in all directions. They wanted to 


Guest Towels 31 

see everything. On the second floor, they frankly 
peered with open curiosity into the numerous bed¬ 
rooms they passed. Finally Molly Stewart opened a 
door and led them into a much smaller room than any 
they had seen. But what a room! Its walls were danc¬ 
ing with the gayest and merriest of nursery figures. 
Even on this dull December day, the room twinkled. 
In one corner was the bassinet. Beside it stood a 
nurse in a white uniform. Mrs. Walker’s face was as 
twinkling as the room. Flopsy, Alice, and Fleurette 
were completely awe-stricken and tongue-tied. 

For no good reason at all, Flopsy could feel her knees 
wobbling. “Miss Hilton’s” baby. It was a sweetly sol¬ 
emn thought. 

“May we have my baby?” Molly Stewart asked 
Mrs. Walker. 

“You certainly may.” Mrs. Walker smiled, and bend¬ 
ing over the crib, she lifted out a tiny bundle. 

“How old is the baby?” Alice asked politely. She 
felt she had to ask something. 

“Just four weeks—two days—and six hours—” Molly 
Stewart took her baby into her arms. 

“We were guessing the baby’s name,” Fleurette swal¬ 
lowed self-consciously. 

“My baby’s name is Hilton.” The fond mother 
looked down lovingly into the tiny face. 

“Why!” Flopsy burst out, her eyes wide with amaze¬ 
ment, “That’s what I said. And the girls said it 
couldn’t be! It couldn’t be! And it is—but—” she 
broke off in utter confusion, and then went on falter- 
ingly, “and how could it be?” She put her finger tips 


32 Almost Fifteen 

to her mouth and looked from one face to the other in 
bewilderment. “How could it be Hilton?” 

Her two friends appeared to be quite as baffled as 
she was. 

“And why not? Why can’t my baby be named Hil¬ 
ton?” Molly Stewart was only a little less confused 
than her young friends. 

“It—well—we—thought—in fact, we all thought she 
had to be named Barbara. We decided—” Flopsy’s 
words tumbled out in confusion. “And your name is 
Mrs. Stewart now.” 

Molly Stewart and Mrs. Walker laughed. 

“So, my dear little son, these young ladies want to 
make a sissy of you. They want you to go through 
life with a girl’s name. What do you think of that, 
Hilton Stewart?” she inquired of the squirming bundle 
in her arms. 

“A— what?” Flopsy gasped. 

“A son. This precious baby I hold in my arms is my 
son. My son and David Stewart’s.” 

The girls laughed, but not hilariously. They were 
frankly disappointed. They had wanted their “Miss 
Hilton” to have a baby girl named Barbara. All three 
were very fond of Babbie. 

“Won’t you look at ‘Hilton’ and speak to him, even 
if you are disappointed? And I can see that you are,” 
Molly Stewart asked a little wistfully. 

The girls were instantly contrite. They mustn’t let 
their beloved teacher down. They mustn’t hurt her 
feelings. After all, it was scarcely her fault. 

“Of course! Of course! I’m crazy to see him.” 
Flopsy went forward eagerly. “Oh, let me hold him, 


Guest Towels 33 

please! I just love to hold babies.” This statement, 
although meant kindly, and uttered with the warmest 
and most ardent desire to please, had practically no 
truth in it. Flopsy had never held a baby in her life. 
Her brother, Dickie, was past five, and her mother had 
never permitted her to hold him when he was a baby. 
There was something about Flopsy always that was 
a little harum scarum, and no mother would have know¬ 
ingly given a precious baby into her uncertain hands. 

“Wait!” Mrs. Stewart laughed, “Just a minute.” 

“You’d better not!” Alice gasped. “You’re going at 
him the way you used to go after the ball when you 
played basketball.” 

“Do you play basketball?” Mrs. Stewart laughed 
again, evading the issue. She didn’t want to hurt 
Flopsy’s feelings, but she also did not wish to take any 
chances with her baby. 

“She did!” Fleurette’s eyes were fixed on Flopsy in 
a worried fashion. “She always fumbled the ball. She 
nearly always dropped it.” 

“Good gracious!” gasped Mrs. Walker. “You’d bet¬ 
ter hold the baby, Mrs. Stewart.” 

“I certainly think I had!” 

Flopsy’s mouth drooped. She felt crushed and 
ashamed of herself. 

“He’s just beautiful!” she faltered, peering into the 
tiny face. “He is simply beautiful. I never saw such 
a wonderful baby!” Her voice quivered a bit. She 
must somehow convince “Miss Hilton” of her devotion. 
Flopsy could never call her former teacher by anything 
but the name by which she had first known and loved 
her. But these words of praise for the baby were, un- 


34 Almost Fifteen 

fortunately, as untrue as the statement that she loved 
to hold babies. She did not think he was beautiful. He 
was at the moment, screwing his face up into a weird 
expression, and was blowing out little bubbles from his 
tiny mouth. Flopsy was completely miserable. She 
had failed “Miss Hilton,” completely and irrevocably. 
She did not think her teacher’s beloved son was beauti¬ 
ful. But she would always do anything to make “Miss 
Hilton” happy, even if it meant that her own con¬ 
science was not quite clear. 

Hilton Stewart howled. 

“I’ve frightened him out of his wits!” Flopsy gasped 
in horror. “I am sorry.” 

“Oh, no,” Mrs. Walker protested, taking the now 
screaming baby out of her mistress’ arms. “He loves 
to be told he is beautiful by pretty little ladies. And 
he is. He is the most perfect baby of his age I’ve seen. 
And I’ve seen hundreds. He is just cheering with ap¬ 
proval.” 

“He is?” Flopsy echoed blankly. “I thought he was 
crying.” 

“Well, he’s not. He has to exercise his lungs, you 
know.” 

“He looks just like you!” Alice said politely, turning 
to Mrs. Stewart. 

“At this moment? Oh, dear me!” And Molly Stew¬ 
art’s laugh was spontaneous. “Even when you Eight 
A’s acted up, you never heard me howl like that. Come 
downstairs. Hilton is going to be a regular boy. He 
doesn’t want to have a lot of gushing, flattering girls 
and women around him. It insults his manly dignity.” 
With a wink at Mrs. Walker, Molly Stewart led the 


Guest Towels 35 

girls out of the room. She carefully closed the door. 

“I am afraid my son is going to go right on denounc¬ 
ing us for a while. I want to talk with you girls. I want 
to hear what you have to say. I must know how my 
last class at Number Nine is deporting itself at High 
School.” 

The tea table had been laid while they were upstairs. 
The three girls were tremendously impressed. Flopsy 
felt that it was set with “rare old family silver,” as 
they always said in books. Ellen was hovering close by. 

“Come, girls, sit down. You must be hungry. High 
School girls never eat properly at lunch.” 

Flopsy wished that she could take four or five of the 
tiny sandwiches at one time. She was famished. “Miss 
Hilton” was quite right. She never spent all of her lunch 
money on lunch. She always saved a little to buy some¬ 
thing sweet and silly on the way home. However, she 
felt it was with a dainty gesture that she took one 
ridiculously small sandwich from the tray Ellen offered. 

“Fleurette’s always afraid of getting fat,” Flopsy 
commented, just for something to say. It was the first 
thought that popped into her head. 

“I am not!” Fleurette contradicted flatly. 

“Please don’t tell me that fourteen-year-old girls get 
that silly idea into their heads.” Molly Hilton Stewart 
laughed. “None of you could get fat on what I have 
here, even if you ate it all. And I want you to—all— 
every bit. Every sandwich and every cake.” 

The girls were delighted. Their faces beamed. They 
felt now that they were going to have a lovely time. 
It shouldn't be said that they then ate ravenously or 
“grabbed,” but they proceeded, without another protest 


36 Almost Fifteen 

or comment, to do exactly as “Miss Hilton” ordered. 
After all, they had always felt that she should be 
obeyed. They ate every sandwich, every cake, a dish 
of small bonbons, and a dish of assorted nuts. The 
former Eighth Grade teacher of School Number Nine, 
had rarely received such whole-hearted cooperation, 
or such complete obedience. While they ate, Molly 
Stewart questioned them. 

“Tell me, how are you doing in High School?” She 
turned to Flopsy, “I’ll begin with you.” 

“Flopsy was the cheer leader all Fall you know,” 
Fleurette boasted. “She looked adorable in the Hamil¬ 
ton colors, navy blue and gold. They just suited her 
red hair.” 

Flopsy drank this in with her second cup of tea. It 
was a rare treat to hear either of these intimate friends 
praise her. Other people did, but not her oldest and 
best friends. 

Mrs. Stewart nodded. 

“I know. David, my husband, saw her and heard 
her. He went to most of the football games.” 

“And Flopsy’s treasurer of the sophomore class, and 
they say she’s going to be one of the editors of the 
‘Hamiltonian.’ That’s the school paper, you know. We 
have elections for it next week, and Flopsy’s sure to 
win. She has had two darling stories in it already.” 
Now Alice boasted. 

This was almost too much for Flopsy. Her tea nearly 
went down the wrong way. She choked. She had known 
Alice since she was practically a baby, and never before 
had she heard Alice praise anything she had done. 

“Shall we pat you on the back?” Molly Stewart 


Guest Towels 3 7 

laughed. Flopsy shook her head and pounded her chest. 
She motioned for them to go on. She would have liked 
to hear more on this subject, but there was nothing 
more about Flopsy’s school life that her friends would 
boast about to a former teacher. It wouldn’t be fitting. 

“I wouldn’t pry if I asked about your school work, 
Flopsy?” Mrs. Stewart’s eyes were dancing with mis¬ 
chief. 

Flopsy made a funny little face and shook her head. 
They all laughed, even Flopsy. 

“Well, I’m simply rotten in Latin. I’ve had to take 
each half twice. I hate algebra. But I like French trbs 
beaucoup” 

“I am not taking French. I’m taking the Commercial 
Course,” Fleurette put in. “But I know a lot of French 
from Flopsy. She talks it all the time. Tres beaucoup 
means ‘very much’,” Fleurette giggled. 

“Fleurette’s on the basketball team and she’s a whiz. 
She won her ‘H’.” Flopsy must boast about the girls. 
They had been very kind to her. “Alice is the best, 
really, in French. She always gets more than ninety 
every day.” 

“Now tell me about some of the others? Mary 
Howard?” 

The faces of the three girls showed various degrees of 
disapproval. 

“She is going to be valedictorian when we graduate. 
She is always on the super-honor roll.” 

“And must you make a face over that?” Molly 
Stewart teased, a funny little twinkle in her eyes. “I’ll 
be proud of Mary Howard some day,” but her tongue 
was in her cheek. She was teasing these former students 



38 Almost Fifteen 

of hers, who could never aspire to such high scholastic 
honors. “It wouldn’t be sour grapes?” looking up from 
under her long lashes, her face dimpling. 

“I suppose it is,” Flopsy answered woefully, with 
a long drawn out sigh. They all burst into laughter. 

“Now tell me about that other little girl that you 
used to have with you so much, a cute, chubby, little 
thing, with a long stiff name. Poor child, her name 
never suited her.” 

“Euphemia Green!” Flopsy giggled. “But we never 
called her that! She’s just Dottie Green.” 

“Oh, yes, Euphemia! And does that timid child 
stand up for herself in the big classes down at High 
School?” 

“You should see her! She gets fiery red and chokes 
and sputters. She’s the funniest of all in Westmore’s 
class. Westmore scares her right out of her wits!” 

“Westmore?” Molly Stewart repeated, puzzled. 

Flopsy’s blood ran cold, and shivers played tag up 
and down her spine. She’d done it. Her mother had 
told her she’d be ashamed some day, if she persisted in 
following the example of some of her schoolmates. 
And she was, right now. She wished she were standing 
on a trap door, and that it would open up and let her 
down into a dungeon. But the girls had thought it so 
daring to speak of their High School teachers by their 
last names. 

“Miss Westmore,” Flopsy corrected weakly, “I 
should have said Miss Westmore.” 

Alice and Fleurette had a deep feeling of compassion 
for her. They looked, and felt, just as guilty as though 
they had made this mistake. 


Guest Towels 39 

“Oh, yes, Miss Westmore!” Molly Stewart repeated. 
Her eyes were lowered. She knew that her young guests 
were very much embarrassed. She looked up with an 
innocent and kindly expression. “Do tell me about 
Bill Forbes.” 

The three girls, with great relief, praised Bill ex¬ 
travagantly. Bill would make every boy and girl at 
School Number Nine proud that he had graduated from 
it. Everyone said that by next year he’d be the star 
football player. The High School coach was counting 
on him to put Hamilton in the Class A ranking of the 
state! 

For the next hour they chattered and jabbered. 
Molly Stewart was having a grand time. She read some 
of Babbie’s last letter to them, and told of how Babbie 
missed her former classmates. Babbie’s year at Hamil¬ 
ton High had been her first and only year in school. 
The rest of her life she had spent on the ranch in 
Rawhide. 

“How is Babbie? Is she very well now? Does her leg 
ever bother her?” Flopsy inquired as they stood at the 
door. “She never complains in her letters to me.” 

“My mother writes that Babbie is perfectly well, 
but so very, very lonely. She misses you all terribly. 
Be sure to write to her often. I do hope we sell the 
ranch soon, and then she can come back to Hamilton.” 
Molly Stewart opened the door and peered out into the 
gloom. “You girls looked so disappointed when you 
heard my baby was a boy. But when I look at three 
girls, I am glad I don’t have a daughter to worry about. 
Here you are going out into this damp, cold, miserable 
evening, with no hats, coats wide open, and those silly 


40 Almost Fifteen 

socks and bare legs. Maybe, when my daughter grows 
up—that’s when I have one—the times will have 
changed, and girls will dress more sensibly.” 

The girls giggled, and each in turn threw her arms 
about Molly Stewart’s neck and kissed her rapturously. 
She was a darling and they felt that they never would— 
or could—have a teacher again whom they would love 
as much! The warm feeling of intimacy during those 
last days at School Number Nine had gone forever. 
They had too many teachers now, and shared them with 
far too many other students. 

“She’s my favorite teacher. And I bet she will be 
the only one I’ll ever love,” Flopsy faltered, as they 
turned down the street toward their homes. 



Chapter Two 

Flopsy Is Perplexed 

M RS. MOORE had decided during the summer 
that Flopsy should have everything in her 
bedroom to make her homework easy. She 
had been given a fine new desk, and a student lamp. 
She had a big comfortable chair, in which she could 
curl up and study, and a straight chair for her desk. 
But Mrs. Moore had not viewed one acquisition with 
any great satisfaction. A neighbor, who was moving 
away, had given Flopsy a small radio. Mrs. Moore 
had looked dubious when Flopsy insisted upon taking 
it up to her bedroom, but Flopsy had argued that it 
would be “peachy” to chant her Latin conjugations to 
soft, low music. Mrs. Moore was unconvinced, but 
submissive. 

Immediately after dinner that night, Flopsy gathered 
up her books, and waved a light and airy farewell to 
her family. She was eager to be alone for she had many 
things to think about. 

The second the door was closed, she attacked her 
treasurer’s book. Her parents had insisted that if she 
accepted this office, she must keep a proper record of 
the money she received. There were now half year 
promotions at Hamilton High, and Flopsy was grateful 

41 



42 Almost Fifteen 

that she did not have to collect dues from the entire 
Sophomore class, but only from the Sophomore B’s. 
There were fifty-three in her class. And the dues were 
ten cents a month. Mr. Moore had brought home a 
bank with a key to it for Flopsy, but he held the 
key. Flopsy was supposed to drop each ten cents into 
it, as she received it. She had no idea how much actu¬ 
ally was in the bank. Her book said she ought to have 
twelve dollars and seventy-five cents, and she ardently 
hoped that her book and her bank were in perfect 
agreement. But she had very grave doubts. Some of 
her classmates hadn’t paid any dues. Others, she felt 
sure, said they had paid when they hadn’t, but she had 
always given receipts upon request. Twice, Flopsy had 
“borrowed” from the money she had in her pocket. She 
thought she had paid it back. But, oh dear, had she? 
She shook the bank, and wished to goodness she could 
smash it. Then she turned to the book again. She 
opened her purse. In it were two ten cent pieces and 
two nickels. This was very confusing. Only two girls 
had given her dues. Or had there been three? There 
was a third girl with them. What had she said? Flopsy, 
herself, couldn’t have paid her dues, because she hadn’t 
taken the bus home from school, and she had saved five 
cents from her lunch money. This was a big beautiful 
mix-up! Why had she ever agreed to be treasurer? 
It was a worse headache than her Latin, and that was 
bad enough. She checked off Lois Crane’s name, and 
then chewed on her pen. What was that other girl’s 
name? 

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she groaned, “I’ll just have 
to wait and see who asks for a receipt. That’s all there 


Flopsy Is Perplexed 43 

is to it! And I’ll never, never be treasurer again!” She 
banged the book shut. 

In February there would be new officers elected, and 
Flopsy hoped she’d be elected to something else. Then 
she remembered Fleurette’s flippant remark about jail. 
Well, she hoped she’d be elected to something provided 
she wasn’t in jail on election day. She went over to her 
radio and turned it on, whirling the dial around until 
she found a dance orchestra. A happy thought came to 
her quick as a wink. She deserved this bright and cheery 
thought after that moment of deep gloom. She opened 
her door softly, and went out into the hall; then closed 
it carefully, and tip-toed to her mother’s room. Cau¬ 
tiously, she opened the closet door and felt around in 
the dark. Flopsy not only felt what she was searching 
for, but heard it. She loved the sound of that rustling 
taffeta. Quickly she dragged a garment off its hanger, 
and scooted for her room with her booty. Once behind 
her closed door, she eyed what she had in her hands 
lovingly and admiringly. It was her mother’s hostess 
gown. Mrs. Moore had thought it a very silly gift, and 
had worn it only once or twice. A wealthy aunt in a 
distant city had sent it to her the previous Christmas. 
Flopsy slipped it on over her school dress. She just 
adored the way it felt. She was fascinated by the full 
and rippling skirt which fell to the tips of her toes, and 
trailed a bit on the floor in the back. She rustled over 
to her mirror and surveyed herself with purring satis¬ 
faction. 

“Just scrumptious!” she murmured. She picked up 
her hand mirror and twisted about until she had reveled 
in every possible reflection of herself, profile, three- 


44 Almost Fifteen 

quarters and back views. She squirmed just to hear the 
stiff silk rustle. Then Flopsy laid her hand mirror down 
and peered into the one over her bureau. 

She no longer hated her red hair. When she had been 
in grammar school, it had been an ever present agony 
and misery. Too many people these days told her it 
was beautiful, and she was beginning to believe them. 
Her glowing, shimmering curls fell to her shoulders, 
and the lamp on her bureau brought out their deep 
ruddy bronze tones. Her hair had grown darker in this 
last year or so, but had lost none of its life. 

“But it is not fiery! ” she soothed herself. “It’s really 
a nice dark red.” 

Flopsy picked up her hand mirror again and swished 
over to her comfortable chair. She felt that she was 
literally sailing in this voluminous, billowy creation. 
She leaned forward in her chair, and held her mirror 
before her face. She thought of Janet Dudley, and of 
Janet’s eyebrows. She made believe she was plucking 
her own eyebrows to a thin line, the way the movie 
stars did theirs. She twisted her face into a frown oc¬ 
casionally, as if she were hurting herself. This opera¬ 
tion must hurt! After her eyebrows had been plucked 
to her satisfaction, and her lively imagination enabled 
her to visualize exactly how they would look, she took 
up an imaginary lipstick and touched up her pretty and 
generous mouth. With her little finger, she carefully 
rubbed the lipstick in, and wiped off the surplus. Flopsy 
had seen this process many times in the movies, and 
it had impressed her. Goodness, would she ever be old 
enough to really and truly do all this? Fourteen and 
a half was an awfully old age. She was too old for this 


Flopsy Is Perplexed 45 

and that nonsense, for instance, rough-housing with her 
two small brothers, and too young for at least a million 
interesting and exciting things. Flopsy laid her mirror 
down with a sigh. She wished she were seventeen. How 
exciting it must be to be seventeen! She stretched out 
luxuriously and tried to picture what she would be like 
when she reached this highly desirable age. She would 
be receiving two or three bids to every dance. A shadow 
fell over her face. She had never, thus far, been invited 
to a dance. Neither had Fleurette. Alice had—just 
once. Frank Gordon had asked her. Flopsy made a 
face. Frank Gordon was nothing! His face was spotty, 
and he was the clumsiest dancer in the whole wide 
world. But it annoyed her beyond words—when Alice 
acted superior just because he had given her a bid. Yes, 
she’d stay home from dances forever and ever, rather 
than go with a boy like Frank Gordon. No one on earth 
had ever heard her admit that she wanted to go to 
parties with boys. And they wouldn’t. She was very 
fussy and particular. Now—if—she caught her breath. 
There was a boy in her algebra class who intrigued her. 
Although he mightn’t be very bright, he was at least 
fascinating. He ought to have been a Junior A, but he 
was taking Sophomore B Algebra. The girls were crazy 
about him—and showed it! But she never would. They 
were making themselves look silly and foolish. But not 
she! However, she had to admit she would have found 
algebra positively unbearable, if he weren’t in the room. 

Often now, when they were in the gym after school, 
boys asked her to dance. The Sophomores were having 
a class party right before Christmas. Suppose she didn’t 
get a bid? She shivered. The radio program had 




46 Almost Fifteen 

changed. The music was now her very most favorite 
dance program. She jumped to her feet and began to 
tap dance. She forgot everything, even that her father 
and mother were sitting directly beneath her in the 
living room. She pounded harder and harder. She had 
to. The music seemed to demand it. 

There was a knock on her door. 

Flopsy whirled around in a panic, and hastily flung 
off the hostess gown. She waved it around. Where 
should she put it? She opened her closet door and 
tossed it in. 

“Who is that?” she gasped. “Who is out there?” 

“Just your poor old father. He’s taken on a new 
job, he’s the inquiring reporter.” Mr. Moore opened 
the door and stuck his head in. “Pardonnez-moi, s’il 
vous plait, Mademoiselle, —but—” 

“What is it?” Flopsy gasped. 

“I spoke in French, please note. I asked you to please 
pardon me. My French is terrible, I know, but it’s your 
favorite language these days. I shall continue in my 
native tongue which is English. Maybe you will under¬ 
stand me better.” 

“I am doing my homework.” Flopsy spoke with dig¬ 
nity. 

“When your mother and I fixed up this room, so that 
you could do your homework in peace and quiet, we for¬ 
got that you might have gymnastic homework. We are 
distressed. Is the room big enough for you? It seems 
a little cluttered for pole-vaulting practice.” 

“Oh, dear!” Flopsy sighed deeply. 

“It wasn’t pole-vaulting, then? Possibly it was the 
broad jump or—” 


Flopsy Is Perplexed 47 

“Oh, I was just relaxing a little and doing some tap 
dancing. It makes me stiff to sit still too long. I think 
better after I’ve moved around.” 

“You don’t say! That is amazing! Astounding! I 
will have to tell your mother at once. I can assure you 
it made her think, too, but, I regret to state, not better. 
In fact, I left her on a state verging on collapse.” 

“Oh, jinks!” Flopsy sat down with a sigh of resigna¬ 
tion. 

“And the music! Music and tap dancing! Just fancy 
its helping you to do algebra better. Your mother has 
been worrying needlessly.” 

“Please tell mother I’ve done my algebra homework. 
I did it in a study period in school.” 

“That, too, will lighten her heart. I am glad for her 
sake that I dragged myself out of my comfortable chair 
and climbed the stairs. Although I was not worrying 
about your algebra, I was reproaching myself that I had 
not built a gymnasium somewhere in the house. Au 
revoir, via cherie.” He blew her a kiss and closed the 
door. 

Flopsy tumbled into her big chair and sighed. This 
was her third sigh, and the deepest. Her mind, much 
against her will, was forced upon that algebra home¬ 
work. It was a mess. She couldn’t turn it in, and she 
was much too tired to be bothered doing it over. She 
decided that it would be just as well if she did not move 
again for a while. What should she think about? Oh, 
yes, that boy in the algebra class. Wilton Locke was 
his name. She had heard he had been suspended from 
a military school. He had never noticed her except 
once when he had laughed more loudly than any of the 


48 Almost Fifteen 

others at one of her especially silly remarks. That was 
something, anyway. She had more fun thinking about 
him than Alice could have going out with Frank Gordon. 
Frank Gordon! Flopsy turned up her nose. She 
picked up her Latin book, and stared absent mindedly 
at the page containing her assignment. Then she 
slammed the book shut, and stood up. She had done 
enough for one night. She went to her closet and 
gathered up her mother’s hostess gown. On her way 
out of the room, she leaned over and clipped off her 
radio. She was finished with her homework for this 
night, all except history. Her history book was down¬ 
stairs. She took tremendous pride in boasting that she 
never had to study history, but just had to read it once. 
She was justified in this, because her marks in history 
were always above ninety. As Flopsy went into her 
mother’s room to hang up the hostess gown, she prom¬ 
ised herself that she would borrow it every night. It 
made homework so much easier, in fact, almost thrilling. 

i 

The next morning on her way to school, Flopsy 
hadn’t gone more than a block, when she heard some¬ 
one calling her. 

“Flora! Flora Moore—wait for me.” 

Flopsy turned. It was Rosemary Brewster. Flopsy 
admired Rosemary very much, and felt pleased that 
Rosemary should be anxious to walk with her. Rose¬ 
mary was a Junior, and that in itself was important. 
But she was also a very lovely looking girl, with the 
palest of blonde hair, and deep blue eyes with long 
black lashes. She had only lived in town a short time. 



Flopsy Is Perplexed 49 

Flopsy liked Rosemary’s friends, and Rosemary’s 
clothes, and Rosemary’s ways and manners. Flopsy 
felt decidedly flattered that Rosemary and her friends 
seemed to be singling her out for attention these days. 
They were always stopping to talk to her. They would 
rush up to Flopsy in the corridors of the school in the 
brief intervals between classes, and would walk along 
with her. All of this made Flopsy feel important, but, 
at the same time, puzzled her. Did they really like her 
so very much? 

Rosemary slipped her arm through Flopsy’s this 
morning, and greeted her with a warm smile. 

“Tell me, Flora, do you mind if I call you Flopsy? 
Everyone seems to, and we, that is my friends, think 
it is a precious name. It is so cute and funny.” 

Flopsy was embarrassed for an instant. She used to 
hate “Flopsy,” but now that she was in High School, 
she rather enjoyed it. It was different. There wasn’t 
another girl in Hamilton with a nickname so funny and 
distinctive. But to have Rosemary’s friends like it, 
too, confused her. Why did they like it so much?” 

“Of course—please—of—course—” she stuttered. 

“You know my friends, don’t you Flopsy? You know 
Joan Bassett and Helen Putnam? I know you do, be¬ 
cause they talk about you all the time. They rave!” 

Flopsy was now too overcome for words. She nodded. 
She longed to be able to tell Rosemary that her friends 
raved about her, but she couldn’t. Only Alice admired 
Rosemary. Fleurette and Dottie thought these girls a 
bunch of “snips.” Maybe her friends were jealous. 
Rosemary, Joan and Helen were never snippy, not, at 


SO Almost Fifteen 

least, to her! They were bewilderingly nice. Rosemary 
didn’t seem to expect Flopsy to do any talking. She 
wanted to do it all. 

“We like your friend Alice Holt, too.” Rosemary was 
a little patronizing. “But tell me, do you like, really 
like, Fleurette Muldoon very much?” She watched 
Flopsy closely. 

Flopsy was completely bewildered by this question. 

“Why, yes. She’s one of my best friends,” Flopsy 
faltered. Rosemary seemed so intense, at the moment. 
What was it all about anyway? 

“She’s so different from you, so different from Alice 
Holt,” Rosemary persisted. 

“Why?” Flopsy asked bluntly. “I don’t know what 
you mean.” 

“Well,” Rosemary went on, her voice smooth as silk, 
“Joan says she’s very ungrammatical. Joan heard her 
say, ‘She done it,’ or ‘she seen it.’ ” 

“She doesn’t say it very often,” Flopsy protested, 
“she only forgets once in a while. She can’t help it. 
Her mother says it, too.” 

“That’s just what we mean,” Rosemary returned. 
“It’s her mother, too. Her mother dyes her hair, and 
talks very loudly in the stores, doesn’t she? And Fleur¬ 
ette sometimes wears clothes as loud as her mother’s 
voice.” 

Flopsy unlinked her arm from Rosemary’s. 

“Mrs. Muldoon is very kind and I like her, and I 
like Fleurette, too—” her voice broke, her eyes snapped. 

“Oh, Flopsy, I’m so sorry! Truly I am! Please 
forgive me. I shouldn’t have said it. I never saw you 
without a smile on your face before. Please laugh 


Flopsy Is Perplexed 51 

again. I must say Fleurette has pretty hair and pretty 
eyes,” Rosemary’s manner was ingratiating. 

Flopsy did not answer. She was simply furious, she 
told herself, furious! 

“I want you to like my friends 1” Rosemary coaxed. 
“And I ought to like yours. I am sorry about what I 
said about Fleurette. By the way, I hear you are going 
to be on the editorial staff of the ‘Hamiltonian.’ All of 
my friends, ten of them, are going to vote for you!” 

Flopsy felt like saying with Alice-in-Wonderland, 
this is getting “curioser and curioser.” 

“Thank you,” Flopsy smiled, “thank them.” 

“Oh,” Rosemary broke off abruptly, as an automobile 
horn sounded close by, “There is Jack Merritt. He 
wants to drive me to school. Now, Flopsy, please, 
please forgive what I said about Fleurette, and remem¬ 
ber only that my friends think you are adorable.” Rose¬ 
mary hurried to the curb, and into a roadster. She 
leaned out and waved a charming goodbye. 

Flopsy walked along, her thoughts in a jumbled heap. 
She was pleased, flattered, annoyed and irritated. But, 
on the whole, she was flattered. She wished she could 
find Alice. She had to talk this over with someone, or 
she’d burst. But Alice was nowhere in sight. 

Just then, she saw Lois Crane and Elsie Martin, 
and the third girl who had been with them the day 
before, coming toward her. 

Flopsy thanked her lucky stars that, just before she 
had crawled into bed the previous night, she had made 
out receipts for the girls who had paid their dues. She 
opened her Latin book, took out two slips of paper, and 
waved them. 


52 Almost Fifteen 

The girls approached with broad grins on their faces. 

“Didn’t you pay your dues, Paulette?” Lois turned 
to the third girl, after she and Elsie had collected their 
receipts from Flopsy. “I thought you did.” 

Paulette looked blank for a minute, and then spoke 
up quickly, “Why I think I did, didn’t I, Miss Moore?” 

Flopsy colored. She liked being called “Miss Moore.” 
But she was just positive that this girl hadn’t paid 
her dues! 

“Did you pay?” Flopsy asked, her brows together in 
a puzzled frown. “What is your name?” 

“My name is Paulette Muggesser, and I think I paid. 
Did I, Lois? I can’t really remember.” 

“I think you did. You said you were going to. Don’t 
you remember?” 

Paulette Muggesser! Flopsy simply stared at her. 
She had never heard this funny name before. In fact, 
she couldn’t even remember having seen the girl’s even 
funnier little freckled, snubnosed face before! Sud¬ 
denly, Flopsy remembered those two extra nickels. Oh, 
dear! She wished she could resign her office on the spot. 
But she couldn’t. Everything was in a plain everyday 
tangle. 

“I don’t think you did,” Elsie put in. 

Flopsy gave her a warm and grateful glance. 

“But I am sure now! I did!” Paulette spoke posi¬ 
tively. She was more certain every minute. 

This was a pretty pickle. 

“What did you give me, two nickels or a dime?” 
Flopsy asked cautiously. 

“Let me see,” Paulette hesitated, “I think it was a 
dime.” 


Flopsy Is Perplexed S3 

“Well, I didn’t have three dimes.” Flopsy’s face 
brightened. “I only had two dimes, and two nickels. 
And I know positively that Elsie and Lois gave me 
dimes.” 

“Then it must have been two nickels,” Paulette in¬ 
sisted, “and I’m sure it was.” 

“I don’t think you paid,” Elsie persisted. 

“I think she did,” Lois contradicted. 

“And I know now that I did.” Paulette’s tone 
brooked no further contradiction. 

“Oh, all right!” Flopsy snapped. For the second 
time on her way to school that day, she was genuinely 
angry. “I’ll give you a receipt later. I am sorry!” 

There was an uncomfortable silence. 

“Maybe you didn’t pay.” Lois was weakening. 

“Well, I did!” Paulette Muggesser could not be 
shaken from this declaration. 

Flopsy gave her a grim little smile. 

“You’ll get your receipt.” 

“I’ll bet anything, Paulette, you didn’t pay.” Lois 
had completely whirled around in her point of view. 
She liked Flopsy and didn’t want to be on the opposite 
side of any fence. 

“Never mind, Lois. It’s all right,” Flopsy smiled. “I 
guess Paulette is right. Do you mind if I run along. I 
want to catch up with Dottie Green and Mary Howard.” 
Flopsy never turned her head again until she was walk¬ 
ing with her friends from grammar school days. When 
she looked back, Paulette, Elsie and Lois were standing 
still, and, to all appearances, they were having a rip¬ 
roaring argument. But Flopsy felt it would not help 
her. Paulette Muggesser would never give in. 


54 Almost Fifteen 

“Oh, Mary,” Flopsy asked pleadingly, “did you do 
your algebra?” 

“Of course,” and Mary Howard frowned. What a 
silly question! She always did her homework, and 
Flopsy ought to know it by this time. 

“Wasn’t it awful? And Mr. Van Pelt scares me stiff. 
I’ve just been comparing my answers with Mary’s, and 
I’ve got half of them wrong,” Dottie said forlornly. “I 
won’t have any time to correct them.” 

“Oh, let me compare my answers, too,” Flopsy burst 
out eagerly. Mary never minded “comparing.” She 
always felt so superior when she was doing it. 

Flopsy pulled a dirty mud-stained paper out of her 
loose-leaf notebook. 

“Don’t tell me that that is your homework in alge¬ 
bra!” Mary’s eyes widened in shocked surprise. “You’ll 
get killed if you try turning that in.” 

“Well, how could I help it?” Flopsy retorted. “It 
was just an accident. You know how snowy and wet 
it was yesterday. I was running to get in out of the 
wet, when my book fell on the sidewalk. I hope he 
doesn’t think I’d walk slowly just to guard my precious 
algebra for his sake, and risk getting pneumonia! Let 
me see. What is your answer to the first problem?” 

“Plus 2 Y!” Mary answered. 

Flopsy moistened her pencil with her lips. She had 
laid her paper on one of the books. 

“Oh, lands—!” 

Mary gave the second answer, and stuck her head 
over Flopsy’s shoulder. She wanted to see if, by any 
chance, Flopsy was right. 

“Oh, jinks!” 


Flopsy Is Perplexed 55 

Mary continued with the answers, until all ten had 
been given. Flopsy moistened her pencil ten times, 
and made marks on her paper. She alternated between 
saying, “Oh, Jinks!” and, “Oh, Lands!” 

“Did you have them all right?” Mary asked a trifle 
sarcastically. 

“Not all!” Flopsy answered glibly, and gave Dottie’s 
plump arm a squeeze. 

“You’ll be on the ‘Hamiltonian/ won’t you, Flopsy? 
And you’ll be able to put anything you want in that 
‘Look Who’s Here!’ column.” Mary looked at her 
friend hopefully. Mary would have liked to see her 
own name in this perfectly thrilling column. It was 
the first thing that students turned to when they opened 
their school papers. Sometimes the squibs were a little 
caustic, but nevertheless they were always exciting. 
Mary hoped that there would be some comment on her 
high records. She wouldn’t mind much what it was, 
as long as they called attention to her. Of course, it 
might be rather fun to be teased, in the column, about 
a boy, as some of the girls were, but Mary knew that 
none of the boys bothered with her. Or, rather, she 
didn’t bother with them! 

Flopsy’s eyes wandered over the groups of boys and 
girls crowding the streets. Wherever was Alice? She 
simply had to tell her about Rosemary. She had a 
feeling in her bones that she and Alice might have an 
argument. 

She did not see Alice until they were in their seats 
in their “home room.” With her lips she shaped the 
word, “Wait.” She pointed to the door and then re¬ 
repeated, “Wait.” When the bell sounded for the first 


56 Almost Fifteen 

change of classes, Flopsy made a bee-line for Alice. 

“What’s the matter?” Alice asked breathlessly. 
“What is on your mind?” 

“I’ll walk down the hall with you. Come on, I’ll tell 
youl” 

“I am going up to drawing, and you’re going to Latin. 
We can’t go in the same direction.” 

“Oh yes indeedy, we can. I’ll go up to the drawing 
room with you. I simply have to tell you—some¬ 
thing—” 

“O.K.—but—” 

“Listen to this.” Flopsy put her arm through Alice’s 
and they slowly walked down the corridor. The boys 
and girls were permitted to talk quietly in the hall as 
they changed classes. Alice was thrilled. A spot of 
bright color burned on each cheek. 

“I think Rosemary is a doll. I am so glad she likes 
me. I like all of those girls. They are the nicest set 
in the school, or in the town.” 

“Well, I like them, too. But I think it’s mean that 
they talk about Fleurette. How do they get that way?” 
Flopsy snapped. 

“Oh, I can see just exactly what they mean. She does 
say ‘she done it,’ or even ‘she hasn’t no more—this or 
that.’ ” 

The argument Flopsy had anticipated was coming 
—had come. 

“Well, don’t you dare tell me you don’t like Fleurette. 
You’ve been to her house lots of times, and Mrs. Mul- 
doon has been very sweet to you and me.” Flopsy’s 
voice was raised hotly. They were now climbing up to 
the second floor, to the drawing room in the opposite 
direction from Flopsy’s Latin room. 


Flopsy Is Perplexed 57 

“Well, I can see—” 

“You said that before. You ought to stop going with 
Fleurette, if you feel that superior.” 

“Fleurette is nice in her way. But she’s not as—” 
Alice faltered. “Well, those other girls really come 
from the nicest families.” 

“You’re a big snob!” Flopsy’s voice was now very 
high and thoroughly angry. 

“I can’t help it if I am. I am particular. That’s all.” 
Alice had a satisfied smirk on her face. 

“Don’t take ‘snob’ as a compliment. It’s just the 
opposite. Look it up in the dictionary. My father made 
me once. You’ll learn something.” 

The hall was nearly empty now. A bell sounded. 
They were outside the classroom in which Alice was 
due. 

“Listen, Flopsy,” Alice pleaded as she put her hand 
on the knob, “Rosemary is a darling. Don’t, please, 
please, get mad at her. It’s going to be so exciting. I’ll 
explain later.” 

“Explain what?” Flopsy asked coldly. 

Another bell sounded. 

“Oh, Pete! ” Flopsy gasped. She raced down the long 
hall, and nearly fell down a flight of stairs. Then she 
dashed madly down another long corridor. 

“MISS MOORE!” A voice roared from somewhere. 
It fairly shook the High School building on its founda¬ 
tions. “WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU ARE—ON 
THE TRACK?” 

Flopsy stood still in her tracks. She did not dare 
move even her eyes. 

A man’s rapid steps were coming up behind her. 

“Miss Moore!” 


58 Almost Fifteen 

Flopsy turned. Yes. It was “Bulldog Drummond!” 
He was the head of the Science Department. He had 
acquired the nickname, not only because his name was 
Drummond, but because he looked and acted like a 
bulldog. Flopsy stood looking at him meekly. 

“Who is your home room teacher?” 

“Miss Anderson.” 

“Give her this report. Tell her you are to be de¬ 
tained tonight.” He handed Flopsy a slip of paper, 
across which he had scribbled his name. 

“Yes, Mr. Drummond!” Flopsy sing-songed. 

“I am not at all sure I like your tone.” 

Flopsy almost choked. She fully expected him to 
start tearing her apart, like a real bulldog. 

Her knees shook. 

“Go to your class, and don’t you ever try running 
through these halls again.” 

Flopsy almost fell into the Latin room. 

“Where have you been, Miss Moore? You’re late.” 
Miss Bellow’s tone was sharp. ' 

But Flopsy was not afraid of Miss Bellows. She 
tumbled into her seat and looked up with a sweet smile. 
With one hand she waved an airy gesture in the di¬ 
rection of the hall. 

“I was detained by Mr. Drummond. We were just 
having a little talk.” 

Miss Bellows eyed her suspiciously, and then turned 
her attention to a book on her desk. Flopsy pulled the 
corners of her mouth down and rolled her eyes heaven¬ 
ward. There was a snicker in the room. Miss Bellows 
looked up, straight at Flopsy. Flopsy’s expression was 
innocent, and so appealingly mild that Miss Bellows 


Flopsy Is Perplexed 59 

was more than suspicious. She was certain she knew 
where the responsibility for that snicker could be 
placed. But she decided not to press the matter. 

The algebra class was during second period. These 
days, Flopsy went toward that room with her heart 
pounding a little harder in happy anticipation. She did 
not look forward to her algebra lesson, but she did look 
forward to seeing Wilton Locke. She always searched 
the room with her eyes immediately to see if he were 
at his desk. 

Mr. Van Pelt, their algebra teacher, was a fine 
teacher, they all had to admit, and no one ever “got 
away” with anything in his class. But he had an eccen¬ 
tric way of opening his eyes and blazing out, “Less 
Noise!” It had the effect of bringing the class at once 
to a dead silence. 

“Less noise!” he was glaring, as the class crowded 
into his room. 

Silently, the students took their seats and spoke only 
in hushed whispers. Flopsy noted immediately that 
Wilton Locke was in class, but he was talking in a low 
tone to that Hazel Manley. Hazel always managed to 
talk to Wilton Locke. 

“Less noise!” Mr. Van Pelt commanded. “Take your 
seats. Get out your homework and exchange it with 
the neighbor on the right. I will read the answers. You 
correct them.” 

There was an immediate hubbub, and the rustling 
of many papers. 

“QUIET!” 

Mr. Van Pelt opened his answer book, and the class 
subsided into a profound silence. 


60 Almost Fifteen 

Jim Chester, the boy who had Flopsy’s paper, stood 
up after the sixth answer had been given, and waved 
his arm. 

“What is it, Chester?” Mr. Van Pelt peered over his 
glasses with a sour expression. 

“This paper seems to have a lot of right answers, but 
they don’t belong to the right questions. What shall 
I do?” 

“Sit down,” Mr. Van Pelt snapped, “and don’t ask 
silly questions. Mark them wrong.” 

Jim Chester shrugged his shoulders, put out his hands 
in a hopeless gesture, and then sat down. 

Mr. Van Pelt caught sight of Flopsy’s muddy paper. 

“Hold that paper up so we can all see it. We’d all 
enjoy seeing anything as charming as it is!” 

Jim Chester waved the paper high above his head. 

“And the right answers to the wrong questions, on 
that paper!” 

The class was at once in a not unusual uproar! 
Flopsy spied Wilton Locke out of the corner of one 
eye. He was nearly “rolling in the aisles” with mirth. 

“LESS NOISE!” 

The class subsided. There were giggles here and 
there, which could not be suppressed. 

“The owner of that masterpiece in mud will please 
stand.” 

Flopsy stood. Her eyes were lowered as though she 
were in an agony of embarrassment and contrition. But 
her classmates knew her better. They again went into 
boisterous shouts of laughter. 

“LESS NOISE!” 

The class turned off its laughter. 


Flopsy Is Perplexed 61 

“Miss Moore you get zero. Zero, do you hear? A 
cipher. Nothing! Absolutely nothing! And also, you 
will do that paper all over again and turn it in with 
tomorrow’s homework. But you will still get zero.” 

Flopsy cupped her chin in her hands and looked 
straight ahead. Her expression was almost heartbreak¬ 
ing. But it only provoked more raucous laughter from 
her classmates. 

“LESS NOISE!” 

The class turned off its laughter once again. One 
would think that Mr. Van Pelt was moving radio dials, 
and changing from one program to another. At the 
moment, the program was very solemn. It might have 
been a serious talk on cause and cure of some disease. 

Flopsy was satisfied. In fact, she was purring con¬ 
tentedly to herself. She had put on a “swell show” for 
Wilton Locke. 

That afternoon, she waited for Alice, grimly. She was 
determined to find out what all this was about. Alice 
seemed to think that Rosemary had something interest¬ 
ing on her mind, and Flopsy wanted to know what it 
was. 

Alice’s face, as she met Flopsy, was a study. Well 
as Flopsy knew her, she couldn’t make out what 
humor she was in, or what she was thinking. 

“I looked up ‘snob’ in the dictionary, and that’s not 
what I am. ‘Snob’ means something else to me.” Alice 
was trying not to be too angry. 

“Well, it’s what the dictionary says it is.” Flopsy 
walked along with her. 

“I am not a vulgar—anything—” Alice persisted. 

“Well, I called you that because you were acting so 


62 Almost Fifteen 

superior about Fleurette. And you were saying those 
girls were ‘nicer/ and you only meant ‘nicer’ because 
they have better clothes. Oh, I can’t explain.” 

“Well, they are nice, aren’t they, Flopsy?” Alice 
pleaded anxiously. She did not wish to quarrel with 
her friend at the moment. It was very important, ter¬ 
ribly important, that they remain good friends just 
now. It would spoil everything if they were not. 

“Yes, I like Rosemary, and I like her friends,” 
Flopsy spoke slowly. “What’s it all about? Why are 
they being so sweet and nice to me all of a sudden?” 

“I don’t dare tell you what I think it is. It would 
spoil everything. I just can’t. But please, please be 
nice to Rosemary. She’s a grand person. And you’ll 
have a good time with those girls.” 

“Well, I am not going to stop going with Fleurette, 
just because they don’t think she’s much,” Flopsy said 
stubbornly. 

“I’ll bet anything, Flopsy, that we can make them 
really like Fleurette. Fleurette can be a barrel of fun 
sometimes.” Alice hoped this would soften Flopsy. It 
was almost unheard of for her to praise Fleurette. 

“Maybe we can!” Flopsy’s eyes brightened. “That’s 
just what we will do. They’d like Fleurette if they 
knew her.” Flopsy melted completely. 

She simply couldn’t help being flattered by Rose¬ 
mary’s attentions, even though she’d hate to admit she 
did consider Rosemary’s friends quite the “nicest” girls 
at Hamilton. She would have them as friends without 
giving up Fleurette, or hurting her. 

Besides, this was all a little mysterious, and she was 
burning with curiosity to know what it was all about. 


Flopsy Is Perplexed 63 

It wasn’t until she got home that she remembered 
that Mr. Bulldog Drummond had given her a slip to 
hand to Miss Anderson. 

Oh, Goodness! 


Chapter Three 

Much Ado About Everything 

I ""FLOPSY was elected to the position of associate 
editor of the Hamiltonian by an overwhelming 
• majority. She really felt sorry for the girl run¬ 
ning against her, who was a mousey little thing and 
whom few of the students knew. She had been sug¬ 
gested by one of the English teachers because of her 
high rating in that subject. Flopsy, herself, was un¬ 
usually good in English, but also there was no other 
Sophomore girl with her popularity. 

That afternoon she was in a radiant mood as she 
walked home from school. Everyone, or practically 
everyone, had congratulated her. All of Rosemary’s 
friends had crowded about her, and every one of her 
former classmates at School Number Nine. The stu¬ 
dents of the Alexander Hamilton High School were in¬ 
tensely interested in, and proud of their school paper. It 
had taken many prizes for its general appearance, and 
was considered one of the best school papers in the 
state. 

Just before she said goodbye to Fleurette that after¬ 
noon, Flopsy was so pleased with herself and life in 
general, that she decided to do her friend a good turn. 
And she intended to do it in the best way possible. She 
slipped her arm through Fleurette’s. 

64 


Much Ado About Everything 65 

“You know Rosemary Brewster don’t you? She’s a 
Junior? And she is as pretty as a peach.” 

Fleurette looked less happy. 

“Yes, I know her. At least I’ve seen her. She’s al¬ 
ways— Well, she’s always—” Fleurette didn’t want 
to say, “she’s always making a fuss over you.” “I 
think she’s very snooty and high hat. I’ve tried to 
speak to her, but she never seems to remember me.” 

Flopsy’s face colored. She wished Fleurette wouldn’t 
even try, under the circumstances, to speak to Rose¬ 
mary. 

“I think she remembers you. Last week, she said 
she knew you, and that you had pretty hair and pretty 
eyes.” Flopsy watched Fleurette anxiously, and the 
other girl smiled with pleasure. 

“Honest?” 

“Honestly! But she asked me why you sometimes 
said, ‘you done it,’ and ‘you seen it.’ ” 

“I done what? I seen what?” Fleurette’s own color 
mounted. “What did she say I done?” 

“Fleurette Muldoon! You know better. You hardly 
ever, ever say that. Why do you?” Flopsy asked miser¬ 
ably. 

“Well, I think it’s important to know what that snip 
says I have done. Whatever it is, it isn’t true!” 

“This is an awful muddle. It’s not what you have 
done that counts. It’s your English.” 

A hot, angry red flamed into Fleurette’s face. 

“My English!” 

“Yes,” Flopsy went on wretchedly, “you should say, 
‘I have done it,’ or ‘I have seen it,’ or ‘I did it.’ ” 

Flopsy’s heart nearly turned over in horror. Two 


66 Almost Fifteen 

tears rolled down Fleurette’s cheeks. She turned her 
head away. Never, never before had she seen tears in 
Fleurette’s eyes. Fleurette quickly swallowed them, and 
spoke with an effort. 

“I do know better, and you know it. That was just a 
slip. You’re a funny friend to let—” 

“I didn’t let her,” Flopsy broke in, “I told her you 
hardly ever— Oh, I did! Really I did!” 

“Is it a crime?” Fleurette asked in a choked voice. 
“Did you have to fight with her about me? Tell her 
I don’t care what she thinks. I hate her and all her 
friends. I can see what they’re doing. They’re trying 
to keep you from being my friend. I can see it! 
I see it every day, now. I’m not good enough for them! 
I am not good enough for you!” Fleurette’s voice was 
rising, and her words fell out in a torrent. 

“Fleurette!” Flopsy’s own voice broke. “Please, 
please. I don’t know what it’s all about. But I promise 
you I’ll never, never, let them break up my friendship 
with you!” 

“They like Alice Holt,” Fleurette’s eyes were misty, 
and her lips quivered. 

“Oh yes,” Flopsy admitted, and then went on des¬ 
perately, “Alice Holt has lived so long in this town 
that everyone thinks her father owns half of it. And 
everyone knows her father, Judge Holt. And I’ve lived 
here since I was born. You’ve only lived here, well, 
not two years.” 

“Rosemary Brewster hasn’t lived here a long time.” 

Flopsy drew a long breath. This, too, was true. 
What could she say next? 

“Well,” she faltered, “the Brewsters know everybody 


Much Ado About Everything 67 

who has lived here a long time. And her father is 
Dr. Brewster. He is an eye specialist.” 

Fleurette said nothing. Flopsy squirmed uncom¬ 
fortably. Fleurette’s silence was even harder to bear 
than her angry protests. 

“Don’t think I’m crazy about Rosemary because 
I’m not. You shouldn’t get mad at me because she 
talks to me. You walk to school lots of times with 
Esther Schaffer and Vivian Harris!” 

Fleurette moved her shoulders irritably. 

“Oh, those girls!” her voice was filled with scorn, 
“who are they?” 

“They think you’re wonderful.” Flopsy was being 
wily. 

“What do I care?” 

“Oh, lands, Fleurette! This isn’t my fault!” 

“Well, don’t worry about it, then. Go with Rose¬ 
mary Brewster all you want and see if I care!” Fleur¬ 
ette marched off with her chin in the air. 

Flopsy stood watching her with a dull, leaden feel¬ 
ing. What a wretched mix-up! 

When her mother caught sight of her face, as Flopsy 
came in, her heart stood still. 

“Flopsy, you weren’t elected! Don’t let it depress 
you, my darling. After all, I do think you have too 
much outside work right now. Your studies will suffer 
in the end.” 

“I was elected. I ran away with it.” Flopsy said 
shortly. 

“Come, tell me about it. Some one has hurt your 
feelings. My dear, we never can, in this world, expect 
even our friends and our nearest and dearest to take 


68 Almost Fifteen 

our successes in just the way we would want them to.” 
Mrs. Moore felt that probably one of her “friends” 
had belittled this new honor. 

“Well, that’s not it,” and Flopsy kept her face in a 
shadow. “Although Alice did say that she knew I’d 
be elected, because I bothered with all sorts of people 
she wouldn’t take the trouble to notice!” 

“That sounds like Alice, I am afraid. I wouldn’t 
give it a second thought. You’ve known Alice so long 
that you know her ways and manners. Your friend¬ 
ship has survived many such remarks.” 

“It isn’t Alice. It’s Fleurette.” Slowly Flopsy told 
her mother the story of the preceding weeks. She 
was afraid that she couldn’t make it clear. It wasn’t 
clear to her at all. 

“I am sorry for Fleurette,” Mrs. Moore spoke slowly, 
“I don’t like to see friendships broken up for such a 
poor reason. Perhaps it will be temporary. I hope so. 
And, my precious child, you did a very reckless thing, 
even if you meant to be loyal and kind, when you cor¬ 
rected Fleurette’s English.” 

“I only did it because—” Flopsy choked. 

“I know just why you did it, but it will be something 
that Fleurette will resent and smart over for a long 
time. It will rankle every time anything brings it to 
her mind. She would like to feel confident that those 
girls had no good reason to feel superior to her, and 
you let her know that, in one social respect, she was 
inferior. Few of us can stand feeling inferior.” 

Flopsy burst into a torrent of tears. 

“Why, sweetheart!” her mother put her arms around 
her, “Don’t cry. You know Fleurette well enough to 


Much Ado About Everything 69 

know that she will not make herself sick over this. She 
will battle you girls right back, even if she is hurt. 
And then you will get mad, and cease to be hurt your¬ 
self.” 

Flopsy went to her room to do her homework that 
night with a heavy weight on her heart. She did not 
go to her mother’s room for the hostess gown. She did 
not even turn on her radio. She studied. She studied 
her Latin, and toiled over her algebra. Life was grim 
and very real at the moment. 

She picked up Janet Dudley’s last letter, and re¬ 
read parts of it. 

“There’s a girl here, Sunny Whiteside, who reminds 
me of you. But she’s not as pretty as you, so pay me 
a compliment in your next letter . You owe me one, you 
big meany. And Sunny hasn’t half your pep. But is 
she popular! She’s been invited to every dance or party 
that either of the two big military academies near here 
has given. Her father is Lieutenant Governor of the 
state, and they are rolling in money. But I can’t help 
thinking how popular you’d be if you were here. I’ve 
got one boy in mind whom you would like. He’s a 
brother of one of my friends. My roommate just read 
this and she says she will have to ask for another 
room—my head is so big that it fills the whole space! 

“Do write me all the news. Did Babbie Hilton ever 
come back? I may have a dance in the spring and I’d 
love to have Babbie. And I’ll think about asking you! 
Remember me to Alice Holt. Who do you think I met 
at the Army and Navy game this fall? Diana Dean! 
That girl from Emerald Lake. Words fail me. Suf - 


70 Almost Fifteen 

free to say, she looked stunning and she was with the 
best looking cadet you, or anybody, ever laid their 
eyes on—” 

Flopsy looked into space when she read this letter. 
There were no walls to her room. She could see far 
beyond them. She was surrounded by this dozen of 
Janet’s boy friends. She picked up Janet’s letter again. 
One phrase caught her eye. 

“Don’t you detest a poor orchestra to dance by? 
I just insist on leaving, if it doesn’t suit me. What kind 
of an orchestra have you at Hamilton?” 

What kind of an orchestra did they have at Hamil¬ 
ton? Oh, Goodness! That Sophomore party she was 
worrying about would have only a group of three local 
boys. She could see Janet turning her nose up at them, 
and departing in disgust. 

What a crazy world! People were always turning 
their noses up at some one or some thing. She was 
trying not to think of Fleurette, but her mind went 
right back to her again. Rosemary Brewster looked 
down on Fleurette’s English, and Janet Dudley would 
look down on the orchestra at the dance Flopsy, herself, 
was anxious to attend. 

The morning after she had been elected to the “Ham¬ 
iltonian,” the telephone rang just as Flopsy hopped 
out of bed. 

Mrs. Moore called her. 

“Flopsy! The telephone! ” 

Flopsy wrapped her old bathrobe around her, and 
pattered down stairs in her bare feet. Who could it 
be, for Pete’s sake, at this hour? 


Much Ado About Everything 71 

“Hello, honey chile,” a girl’s voice began, “this is 
your dear old friend Rosemary. ’Member me?” 

“Why, hello, Rosemary! ” Flopsy’s heart flip-flopped 
at the name. “You’re an early bird.” 

“Well, how are you, my dear little worm? I am agoin’ 
to git you, you wait and see!” 

“And gobble me up?” Flopsy asked idiotically. 
What on earth was on Rosemary’s mind? 

“I’m stopping for you on my way to school. Don’t 
leave until I come. Hold everything, because I’ll be 
there. And I am going to gobble you up.” 

“Oh, I’ll wait, Rosemary.” 

“So long now, precious! I’ll be seeing you!” 

Flopsy hung up the receiver slowly, and stared at the 
blank wall near her. Maybe she was going to know 
soon what all this was about. 

Mr. Moore took it all as something very funny. 

“You’re a newspaper woman, now, my dear little 
redhead. Your friend Rosemary is looking for some 
publicity in the magazine of which you are now an 
editor. When she begins telling you that your hair is 
like burnished copper, and that your eyes are warm 
and brown, you just put your little red tongue in one 
cheek, and say ‘Well, come clean. Give it to me right 
from the shoulder. What do you want’?” 

Flopsy looked at her mother for affirmation. Was 
Rosemary being friends only to get some service done? 

“You have only a few minutes to wait now. Don’t 
let your father tease you, Flopsy.” 

The doorbell rang. Flopsy had just swallowed a 
piece of toast and it stuck in her throat. Very red in 
the face, she went to the door, and sputtered, “Come 


72 Almost Fifteen 

in, Rosemary, I’ll be ready in a minute. Anyway, 
I want you to meet my father and mother.” 

Mr. Moore bowed low. 

“Rosemary! I like that name. ‘Rosemary for re¬ 
membrance,’ you know.” 

Rosemary colored and giggled. 

“That’s from some play, isn’t it?” 

“Only a little thing called ‘Hamlet,’ by some one 
named Shakespeare.” 

Flopsy gathered up her books in a hurry. She 
wanted to get out. She never knew whether her friends 
would understand her father. He said such silly and 
incomprehensible things at times. She had seen him 
make some girls positively tongue-tied. But not Rose¬ 
mary. She looked up with a pretty smile. 

“I do think I have heard of Hamlet, and Shakespeare 
sounds familiar. My name doesn’t always help me, 
though. I do more forgetting than remembering.” 

Flopsy was getting panicky. Her father and Rose¬ 
mary were getting much too witty. They were making 
her nervous. She hurried to the door and Rosemary 
followed. Rosemary flashed back a radiant smile. 

When they walked down the path, Rosemary slipped 
one arm through hers. 

“Flopsy—did you ever hear of the Delta Sigma 
Delta?” 

“The what?” Flopsy asked in blank amazement. 

Rosemary blushed to the roots of her pale gold hair. 

“It’s our sorority. It’s at least ten years old!” 

“Oh, yes,” Flopsy’s eyes opened wide, “yes, I think 
I have.” 

“Well,” Rosemary rushed on, “you know we aren’t 


Much Ado About Everything 73 

allowed to have sororities in High School, but the Delta 
Sigma Delta is only for Hamilton High School girls. 
The boys have a fraternity, too, the Alpha Phi Psi. 
You may know some of the boys in it. There’s Ted 
Wallace, Tommy Barnes, Wilton Locke—” 

Flopsy shivered all over with excitement—Wilton 
Locke! 

“Wilton Locke’s in our algebra class.” 

“Well, the Delta Sigma Delta and the Alpha Phi Psi 
often give each other dances. But I want to tell you 
about the Delta Sigma Delta. Our chapter is the Alpha 
chapter. Next year we are to have a Beta chapter, 
and a Gamma chapter. We are to be in two more high 
schools. Soon we will be a national sorority. You 
know most of the girls in our chapter, and don’t you 
like them, Flopsy?” 

Flopsy’s heart was pounding hard. 

“Oh, yes, I do—very much—” she gasped, her eyes 
round as saucers, her lips parted breathlessly. 

“Well, they like you. They like you very much. 
And they’d be proud to have you a sorority sister.” 

“A sorority sister!” Flopsy echoed. 

“Yes, that’s what we want. You will accept the ‘bid,’ 
won’t you?” 

“Oh, yes!” Flopsy breathed. She was now so ex¬ 
cited she couldn’t think clearly. She didn’t know what 
to say. What did one say anyway, when she was asked 
to be a “sorority sister”? 

“Grand! We hoped you’d say ‘Yes.’ Joan is meet¬ 
ing Alice Holt this morning, and is asking her, too.” 
Rosemary squeezed Flopsy’s arm very hard. She was a 
little excited herself. And then she went on, “When is 



74 Almost Fifteen 

Babbie Hilton coming back to Hamilton? We wanted 
to have her, too. We were watching you, and Alice and 
Babbie when you were freshmen. Babbie is the most 
adorable thing. And she’s David Stewart’s sister-in- 
law. The Stewarts are very important in this town. 
David’s uncle, Mr. Bates, was president of the Board 
of Education for a long time. Did you know that? I 
just found it out.” 

Flopsy nodded. Indeed, she did remember Mr. Bates 
as president of the Board of Education. He used to 
scare the very “heart and soul, lungs and gizzards” 
out of her 8A class at School Number Nine. She’d 
never deny that he was important! 

“Tell me, do you think Babbie will be back this 
year?” Rosemary persisted. 

“We hope so! She went back to their ranch in 
Rawhide. Her mother wants to sell it, and they thought 
they could do it better if they were there. Oh, Babbie 
would love to be a sorority sister.” Flopsy was thrilled 
down to her toes at the very idea. 

“Well, we will take her in when she comes back. 
Now, Flopsy, you aren’t too sorry about Fleurette 
Muldoon, are you?” 

All the radiance and light went out of Flopsy’s 
face. Why had Rosemary brought that up? 

“Well, Fleurette’s very nice. She really is, Rose¬ 
mary. Don’t forget she’s a star basket-ball player. 
She’s won her ‘H.’ Maybe if the girls knew her bet¬ 
ter, they’d like her,” Flopsy almost pleaded. 

“Maybe,” Rosemary answered in a dead, flat tone. 

Flopsy was searching the street ahead of her for a 
glimpse of Alice. She must see her. 


Much Ado About Everything 75 

“We will let you know when you are to be initi¬ 
ated.” 

“Initiated!” Flopsy’s face dimpled with excitement. 
“Initiated. That sounds thrilling!” 

“It is, and won’t we have a grand time with you! 
The girls can hardly wait. They are thinking up all 
sorts of wild and weird things. Just you wait!” 

Then they saw Joan and Alice. Behind them were a 
half dozen Delta Sigma Delta’s. 

When she saw the other girls, Rosemary waved her 
arms in the air, signalling that they could go ahead. 

Flopsy quivered from head to foot at the shout of 
joy that went up. In another instant, she was in the 
midst of a group of babbling, giggling girls. They all— 
one at a time hugged her—and told her she was a 
“darling,” a “precious,” a “peach” and a “doll.” 

“Now,” said Rosemary, “you will have to take orders 
from us until you are initiated. March straight ahead, 
you two, we have business to discuss, heavy business!” 

Flopsy and Alice obeyed with alacrity. They rushed 
ahead. They were only too eager to be together to talk 
it over. 

“Now, you know!” was the first thing Alice said, 
looking like the cat who has eaten the canary, “I knew 
all along they were rushing us!” 

“Doing—what—?” Flopsy repeated, puzzled. 

“Rushing us. Didn’t you ever hear of being rushed 
for a sorority?” 

Flopsy shook her head. 

“Mildred guessed it. She told me.” Mildred was 
Alice’s older sister, who had just graduated from col¬ 
lege. 


76 Almost Fifteen 

“How did she guess?” Flopsy asked breathlessly. 

“Well, she’s a member of the Delta Sigma Delta. 
She was made a member when she was at Hamilton. 
And besides, she was rushed for her college sorority. 
She knows the signs. That’s why I was so nervous 
when you began to get peeved at Rosemary.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Flopsy asked. This was 
all so new and thrilling. 

“Oh, you mustn’t talk about these things until you 
are sure. It’s not the thing to do. Aren’t you glad, 
now, you didn’t really fight with Rosemary over 
Fleurette?” 

Flopsy stiffened. 

“Well, maybe I will yet!” 

“Oh, NO! Please don’t!” Alice cried out in dismay. 

“Well, I am going to wait now, until after we are in. 
Then I’ll fight with them!” 

Alice blew out a long breath of vast relief as she 
thumped her chest. 

“You had me scared stiff!” 

“When we are members, I am going to see Fleurette 
gets in,” Flopsy repeated stubbornly. 

“But don’t say a word now, will you Flopsy? Please. 
We aren’t supposed to give them orders now. They give 
us orders.” 

“All right!” Flopsy was bursting with importance. 
No one would ever give her orders unless she were will¬ 
ing that they should. Although the Delta Sigma Delta 
was very important, they’d find that she had a will of 
her own. 

Alice did not feel altogether reassured. She never 
could count on what Flopsy was going to do next. There 


Much Ado About Everything 77 

was probably something back of the submissive, “All 
right.” 

“You’ll love being initiated, Flopsy,” Alice tempted 
her. “It’s a barrel of fun, a riot. I know you will love 
it.” 

Flopsy tingled. Yes, Alice was right about this as¬ 
pect, at least. She would love it! 

That day Flopsy thanked her lucky stars that 
Fleurette and she did not have the same lunch period. 
Fleurette was taking the Commercial Course, and her 
lunch period came a half hour later. Four of the 
Delta Sigma Delta’s ate at the same time as Flopsy, 
and she found out promptly what they meant by “tak¬ 
ing orders.” When she reached the cafeteria, Rosemary 
stopped her. 

“Listen, here, insect, you’re to bring us our lunch. 
We are going to sit at the table and you will wait on 
us!” 

If there was one thing in Flopsy’s school day that 
ordinarily tried her soul and patience to the very limit, 
it was standing in the long line at the cafeteria. The 
person ahead of her could never seem to make up his 
or her mind whether he or she wanted a piece of pie, 
or pie and a “dip” of ice cream. First the annoying 
one would remember mother’s advice to get something 
substantial, and then, with mashed potatoes and gravy 
on the tray, the pie and ice cream would seem too al¬ 
luring to resist. She always felt like kicking such a 
weak and indecisive person in the shins. She, herself, 
would know at once that pie a la mode was what she 
wanted, and needed. And always, when she wandered 
about carrying a tray, looking for a desirable and also 


78 Almost Fifteen 

free table in the crowded cafeteria, she would realize 
that she had forgotten a glass of water, or a spoon, and 
would have to go back again. 

But today she was thrilled! Her mother, had she 
seen Flopsy, would scarcely have believed her eyes. 
Flopsy did so much groaning and moaning over u wait¬ 
ing on table/ 5 and did it so badly that Mrs. Moore, for 
her own peace of mind, had almost given up insisting 
on this duty. On several occasions Mrs. Moore had 
asked Flopsy to serve her guests at a bridge party. 
Why she had chosen the same woman twice, and a none 
too pleasant one, to empty a small pitcher of whipped 
cream over, was something her mother could not un¬ 
derstand. The woman! Twice! Mrs. Moore had 
been terribly embarrassed as she had rushed for a 
towel to remove the sticky mess from a dress which 
was obviously new. After the second offense, she had 
ordered Flopsy not to touch anything that contained a 
liquid again, under any circumstance! 

Today, in a twitter of excitement, Flopsy returned to 
that long, slow-moving line time after time. She for¬ 
got spoons, forks, knives and glasses of water. She 
had never been so ordered about in her life, and she 
reveled in it. When the bell sounded for the end of the 
period, she realized that she had eaten no lunch herself. 
At the risk of being late, she swallowed a piece of pie 
in three gulps and walked out of the cafeteria, chewing 
on a bar of chocolate, and feeling like a million dollars. 

That afternoon after school, Flopsy fell pell mell up 
her front stairs. She must tell her mother at oncel 
At once! But disappointment clouded her face when 
she found that Dickie and Frankie, her two young 


Much Ado About Everything 79 

brothers, were in sole possession of the house, with the 
exception of Mrs. Titmouse who came in twice a week 
to do cleaning and washing. The two boys were rais¬ 
ing ructions. And Flopsy was so annoyed that her 
mother was not at home to hear the exciting news, that 
she proceeded to add to the confusion. She grabbed 
Dickie by his curly hair to keep him from punching 
Frankie in the stomach, and he whirled around and 
kicked her in the shins. Mrs. Titmouse, in terror, hur¬ 
ried into the room and denounced them all, so long and 
so loudly, that she forgot her iron. The air was soon 
filled with the unmistakable odor of burning cloth. Even 
the boys realized that something was wrong. 

“For sweet mercy’s sake!” Mrs. Titmouse stormed, 
“that’s one of your middies, Miss Flopsy! You just all 
wait until your mother comes in,” she threatened darkly 
as she rushed back to the kitchen. 

“Now look what you’ve done,” Flopsy raged at the 
boys. “You’ve made Mrs. Titmouse burn my middy. 
And I won’t have one to wear in gym tomorrow. Mother 
will be furious!” 

Life was always thus! Just when everything seemed 
so thrilling and so happy, things like this always hap¬ 
pened! 

The boys were subdued now to an awed silence. 
Flopsy’s superior age, for the moment, made them 
believe exactly what she said. Their mother would be 
furious at them! It was all their fault. 

Quietly, they got their coats and hats and went 

out-of-doors. 

There was nothing now for Flopsy to do but tele¬ 
phone. She had left Alice only ten minutes before, but 


80 Almost Fifteen 

she now talked to her steadily for a half hour on the 
telephone, and would have gone on indefinitely, had 
Alice not announced that her mother was demanding 
the instrument. 

Flopsy went up to her room, and flopped down in 
her big chair. She felt disgusted and cheated. Why 
didn’t her mother come home? Then a happy thought 
occurred. She’d write to Babbie Hilton. She could at 
least tell Babbie that some day they’d be “sorority 
sisters.” She felt sure that Babbie would be as thrilled 
as she. 

“My dearest Babbie: (she began). 

“Oh, please come back to Hamilton! Everybody is 
asking for you. What do you think? Alice and I are 
‘pledged’ to a sorority. That’s what they call it when 
you promise to accept their ‘bid.’ It’s the ASA. Isn’t 
that thrilling. We are going to be initiated and the girls 
promise to simply kill us. I can hardly wait. 

Do you remember Rosemary Brewster? She’s a 
junior, and she says she remembers you. She simply 
raved about you. If you come back, you are going to 
be our sorority sister! Doesn’t that sound thrilling! 
You’ll be a Delta Sigma Delta, too. That’s what those 
funny letters mean up there on the page. They are 
Greek. How is your Greek this morning? In English, 
those letters are D.S.D. I’m all goosefiesh waiting to 
hear what they stand for. We won’t know until we are 
initiated. It’s the most secret thing in the world. I 
don’t know what would happen to you if you ever told 
—but I bet it would be a terrible fate. I try to think 
what simply awful thing they’d do if you told anyone 


Much Ado About Everything 81 

what Delta Sigma Delta stands jor. I imagine it would 
be so dreadful you’d have nightmares. 

You remember long ago before you came East, when 
you couldn’t go to school, and lived out on the ranch 
at Rawhide? Well, then you thought that the most 
wonderful thing in the world would be to have class¬ 
mates and go to school. Now, don’t you think being a 
ASA and having SORORITY SISTERS would be even 
more marvelous? 

And another thing that’s exciting is, what Janet 
Dudley wrote to me. She is going to have a dance in the 
Spring. A Dance! Just think of it. And she wants you 
to come home for it. It’s so wonderful that you can 
dance now. It would be too sad if you had an invita¬ 
tion to a dance and you couldn’t use that leg you hurt 
a long time ago. Please don’t ride any bucking horses 
until after Janet’s dance. Janet says she has oodles and 
oodles of the most thrilling boy friends. Write and tell 
me which is your favorite prep school and I’ll write 
Janet and order her to have boys from just the ones 
you want. 

Oh, I forgot. When we are members of the ASA 
{that’s Greek jor Delta Sigma Delta), we will have a 
secret pass word and a secret handshake. Won’t that 
be a thrill! 

So you are an aunt. We had a name picked for the 
baby — Barbara. Isn’t that a riot? We almost fell over 
when we heard it was a boy. Don’t tell your sister. But 
I imagine when he’s not crying or blowing bubbles, he 
looks like you—or her—or David—or like something! 
Don’t tell her I wrote this; ’member we are going to be 
sorority sisters and we can’t tell secrets.” 


82 Almost Fifteen 

Flopsy tossed her pen across the desk. It bounced 
off onto the floor. The front door had opened. It was 
her mother. She tumbled down the stairs. Dickie had 
come in with his mother, and he was howling at the top 
of his lungs. 

“Mother, Flopsy pulled my hair and Frankie punched 
me in the stomach—” 

Flopsy gritted her teeth. She felt she could cheer¬ 
fully have choked her small brother. Why did he have 
to start raising the roof and telling tales, when she 
wanted to tell her mother about the Delta Sigma Delta? 

“Stop it! Stop it at once, Richard Moore!” Mrs. 
Moore almost shouted to be heard over his uproar. 
“When I saw you first, you were not crying. You only 
began when you saw me. Stop it! ” 

Mrs. Titmouse came from the kitchen. 

“You’re right, Mrs. Moore! He was playing real 
nice in the back yard for the last few minutes. He 
always starts yelling the minute he sees you coming!” 

Flopsy sat down on one of the steps, and felt more 
cheated than ever. This was too disgusting. The hub¬ 
bub was terrific. How could she impress her mother 
happily with the great importance of the Delta Sigma 
Delta at such a wretched moment. She glared at Dickie. 
She felt a wicked satisfaction that she had pulled his 
hair, and that Frankie had punched him in the stomach. 
She also had a savage regret, at the moment, that they 
had not made a better job of it, so that he couldn’t be 
yelling now. 

“It’s such a pleasure to be out all afternoon having a 
delightful time, and to come home to such a list of 
complaints and such shouting and tumult.” Mrs. Moore 



“I haven’t bad news!” Flopsy’s voice broke. 
<( It’s wonderful news.” 















































84 Almost Fifteen 

spoke with biting sarcasm. Her eyes lit on Flopsy. 

“And for goodness’ sake what is the matter with you? 
You look as though you had lost your last friend on 
earth. Now that Dickie has closed his mouth for one 
minute, you may as well tell me your troubles. I 
haven’t taken my hat off yet, and my homecoming 
should be as fantastic as possible.” 

Flopsy choked up. Could anything in this world be 
more unkind? 

“I haven’t got bad news—” Flopsy’s voice broke. 
She looked utterly woebegone. “It’s wonderful news.” 
Her eyes filled with tears. “I haven’t any complaints!” 
Her voice trembled. At this moment, she looked for 
all the world as though she would begin howling as 
Dickie had done. She felt very noble that she could 
restrain herself. 

“Good news! Wonderful news!” Mrs. Moore stared 
at her unbelievingly. “Well, at that, I think I might take 
my hat off and feel at home. But I must say your words 
belie your manner.” Mrs. Moore took off her hat and 
began to unbutton her coat. “Come up to my room and 
tell me. I think I could stand some good news. But, 
Flopsy, I must say I should hate to see you if you had 
had bad news, if ‘good news’ makes you look as though 
some one had used your heart for a stamping ground.” 

Flopsy leaped two steps at a time up the stairs. She 
called over her shoulder in a gay voice, “O.K. I’ll be 
waiting for you in your room. Just wait until you hear! 
You’ll be so surprised!” 

“I am sure I shall be,” Mrs. Moore commented dryly, 
as she started up the stairs. She turned once more to 
Dickie. “Dickie, go out in the kitchen and ask Mrs. 


Much Ado About Everything 85 

Titmouse if she minds washing your face. And don’t 
let me hear you howl again! ” 

Dickie nodded sulkily and disappeared into the 
kitchen, muttering as he went, a Flopsy did so pull my 
hair, and Frankie did so punch me in the stomach. 
And I didn’t do anything.” 

“I’d like to believe that!” Mrs. Moore raised her 
eyebrows. She went up the stairs very slowly. What¬ 
ever could Flopsy’s good news be that it made her look 
like the day of doom? 

When she walked into her room, Flopsy was sitting 
on her mother’s bed, a broad grin on her face. She was 
wriggling with excitement. 

“Mother do you know what! The mystery is solved 
at last!” 

“It is?” Mrs. Moore opened her closet door. “You 
amaze me. What mystery? Oh, dear!” she sighed. 
“Here is one mystery I’d like to have solved when 
you get to it, if you are good at solving them. Why is 
my hostess gown on the floor most of the time? It 
seems to slip off any hanger I put it on—I—” 

Flopsy spoke with suspicious quickness, “You know, 
mother, you know how Rosemary Brewster has been 
following me around, telling me things all the time? 
You remember? You know she popped in here this 
morning. What do you think?” 

“I’d hate to think the boys were playing in my closet. 
But that wouldn’t be it, because why should it always 
be just my hostess gown?” Mrs. Moore was thinking 
aloud. 

“Oh, not that mystery! The mystery about Rose¬ 
mary,” Flopsy repeated almost impatiently. 


86 Almost Fifteen 

“Oh, yes, what is it, honey?” Mrs. Moore tried to 
concentrate on her daughter’s mystery. She had so 
many other things on her mind. 

“They were rushing me!” 

“They certainly were, but why?” 

“They want me to be their sorority sister. They want 
me to be a Delta Sigma Delta!” Flopsy explained ju¬ 
bilantly. “Isn’t that exciting? They asked Alice, too. 
And we are going to be initiated. And right this min¬ 
ute we are pledged. Next year it’s going to be a national 
sorority.” 

“Good gracious!” Mrs. Moore gasped. “Is this col¬ 
lege or high school? Why, I thought sororities were not 
permitted in any of the public high schools in this 
state.” 

“Well, this one isn’t really in the high school. But 
the girls have to be high school girls just the same.” 
Flopsy was a little disappointed at her mother’s atti¬ 
tude. 

“Well!” Mrs. Moore spoke slowly. “I suppose you 
will have some fun out of it, but—” 

“But, mother!” Flopsy protested. “It will be too 
exciting for anything. Secret pass words, secret hand¬ 
shakes, and I can’t wait for the initiation.” 

“Couldn’t you wait until you get to college?” Mrs. 
Moore’s face was thoughtful. 

“Oh, moth-er!” Flopsy squealed. “You know how I 
am. I never can wait for things. And besides, maybe 
I’ll never get to college. Maybe I’ll be taking first 
year Latin for years and years!” 

“But right now, you have so many outside interests.” 

“Oh, mother,” Flopsy’s eyes were wide with alarm, 


Much Ado About Everything 87 

“don’t you want me to be a Delta Sigma Delta? Oh, 
mother!” 

“Well, I’ve always thought that sororities in public 
schools just encouraged snobbery.” 

Flopsy’s face turned pale. 

“Why, mother!” she said weakly, “are you thinking 
of Fleurette? Because just as soon as I am a member, 
I am going to fight to have Fleurette in, too.” 

“Fight!” Mrs. Moore smiled. “Oh, Flopsy!” 

“Maybe I won’t have to fight too much. You remem¬ 
ber Rosemary said she had pretty eyes and hair. Maybe 
she isn’t so much against her after all.” 

“Well, my dear,” Mrs. Moore laughed, “I am not 
going to say, ‘no.’ I can see that you would suffer 
acutely if you did not know what Delta Sigma Delta 
stood for. And it would be very painful to refuse the 
fascinating status of being a ‘sorority sister.’ ” 

Mr. Moore took it all as a huge joke. Flopsy had 
felt in her bones that he would. 

“What was that sorority you belonged to a few years 
back when you were in School Number Nine?” he 
asked sweetly. “It had a very secret name, too.” 

“Oh, that!” Flopsy frowned. “You mean that silly 
old T.M.S.” 

“Oh, yes! The ‘Too Many Spats.’ I recall it all now. 
That was a sorority!” 

“It was not a sorority!” Flopsy contradicted with 
some annoyance. “It was just a crazy club. Daddy, 
this is a real sorority. It has a real sorority name, Delta 
Sigma Delta.” 

“Oh, yes, I see it all now very clearly.” Mr. Moore 
nodded. “Please pardon me. But the idea is very much 


88 Almost Fifteen 

the same. The same, but although complicated by being 
in Greek, it will still be too many spats. Remember the 
old saying, ‘when Greek meets Greek’? This is going 
to be fun to watch from the side lines.” 

Flopsy sighed deeply. What was the use? Her 
father always got everything mixed up! 


Chapter Four 


Initiation 


NYTHING, which took Flopsy’s mind off the 



tremendously thrilling and exciting business of 


being pledged to a sorority during the next 
week, annoyed and irritated her. She simply could not 
be bothered with anything else. 

As Flopsy was on her way to school with Alice a 
week later, a girl stopped her. Flopsy did not know 
her, yet her face brought to mind some irritating inci¬ 
dent. What was it? 

“Wait Flora, please wait! I must tell you some¬ 
thing terribly important. It’s about my dues.” 

Flopsy nudged Alice. Oh dear! Who was the girl? 
Flopsy said nothing, but nodded for her to go on. 

“Do you know what I found last week at home?” 

Flopsy almost glared at the snub-nosed face which 
stared intently into her own. She nudged Alice again. 
What did she care about the girl’s discovery? She was 
going to learn, that morning, when she was to be initi¬ 
ated into the Delta Sigma Delta. Nothing else on earth 
interested her. 

“I give up!” 

“Two receipts for my December dues. There simply 
must be a mistake!” 

Flopsy made a clucking sound of pure annoyance. 


89 


90 Almost Fifteen 

“Well, there must be. Did I sign them both?” 

“Yes, you did! You signed them both, and they 
both are for December.” 

“What is your name?” Flopsy asked crossly. 

“You know. You must remember,” the girl insisted 
earnestly, “you wrote it twice only a short time ago.” 

Flopsy shook her head. 

“Don’t you remember? I was with Elsie and Lois?” 

“Oh, yes,” Flopsy sighed. She did remember the 
incident. But she simply could not remember the girl’s 
name, except that it was something very odd. “Oh, yes, 
I remember. But what is your name?” she asked in 
despair. 

“Paulette Muggesser!” the girl answered trium¬ 
phantly. “I bet you know, now.” 

“I bet I do!” Flopsy retorted aloud, and to herself 
added, “Now that you have told me I do.” 

“You know what I think?” Paulette went on, “I guess 
I’ve paid for January. That’s what the mistake was.” 
Paulette smiled warmly. She was sure Flora must be 
pleased at having the matter straightened out at last. 

“Oh, yes! I bet you’re right. It was for January.” 
Flopsy agreed hastily. Anything to be rid of this 
nuisance. She was eager to meet her sorority-sisters- 
to-be. She couldn’t be bothered talking about class 
dues—past, present, or future. 

“Will it be all right if I change it on the receipt?” 

“Oh, I think that would be wonderful. It would be 
dandy, and I’d appreciate it so much.” Flopsy mus¬ 
tered up a smile, which was almost good-natured. “I’d 
thank you very much, if you would, Paulette.” 

“You’re very welcome, Flora!” Paulette seemed re- 


Initiation 91 

luctant to be on her way. She wanted to walk down 
the street with Flora Moore and Alice Holt. It would 
make her feel very proud. 

“It was so nice of you to tell me about it,” Flopsy 
went on with an artificial smile, “it would have con¬ 
fused my accounts very much if you hadn’t told me.” 

“That’s just what I thought,” Paulette chirped, as 
she tried to get in step with both girls. 

“Do you mind if we cross the street right here, 
Paulette? We have an appointment to meet some girls. 
It’s terribly important.” Flopsy asked with syrupy 
sweetness. 

“Oh, no!” But Paulette’s face showed her disap¬ 
pointment. “That’s all right!” 

“Bye!” Flopsy grinned and patted Paulette’s arm. 
“Thank you, and I am so sorry we have to rush off.” 

“For Pete’s sake!” Alice exploded indignantly the 
minute they were alone. “How can you keep track 
when people do things like that? I bet you a cooky that 
she didn’t pay for January.” 

Flopsy stood still in the middle of the road. She 
turned and stared after Paulette. 

“Now, I am beginning to remember, everything. She 
didn’t pay. Even Elsie and Lois said so. Or maybe she 
did.” Flopsy brought her brows together in a puz¬ 
zled frown. “Listen to me, Alice Holt, if I am ever 
crazy enough to be treasurer again, will you please 
shoot me dead right on the spot. It’s just going to 
drive me crazy.” 

“Oh, there’s Joan and Rosemary!” Alice’s eyes 
brightened, and she dismissed Paulette from further 
consideration. 


92 Almost Fifteen 

The girls started to run. 

“Hello! Late as usual? I’ve had to carry my books 
this far, and it was much too much,” Rosemary loaded 
a pile of books into Flopsy’s arms. Flopsy, herself, had 
made it a point these days to bring home scarcely any 
books. She couldn’t carry too many! 

Joan handed over her books to Alice. 

“Now, walk ahead of us,” Rosemary ordered, “and 
listen very, very carefully. Next Wednesday you are 
to come to school with mismated shoes. And it’s just 
too bad if you haven’t two pairs. One can be black and 
the other white. Or one brown. You are to wear your 
mother’s oldest hat. If your mother hasn’t an old hat, 
you must borrow one. We hope that, whatever hat you 
wear, won’t fit you. You must wear two big hair rib¬ 
bons—one red, the other black. Those are the colors 
of the Delta Sigma Delta. When school is out, we are 
to meet at Joan’s house and we will fix you up, just 
too ducky for words, and then we will all take a lovely 
walk down Spruce Street. We will meet lots of people 
there. It’s crowded in the afternoon.” 

Flopsy and Alice were staggering in an exaggerated 
fashion. They were thrilled to their toes. This was 
going to be fun! 

That afternoon, Flopsy dashed into her house shout¬ 
ing, “Moth-er! Moth-er! Where are you?” 

“Here!” Mrs. Moore called from upstairs. “What is 
it?” 

Flopsy scrambled up the stairs two at a time, and 
bounced into her mother’s room. 

“Oh, mother, I’ve simply got to wear that blue hat 
of yours to school next Wednesday. We are being 
initiated. And we have to look crazy!” 


Initiation 93 

“Look crazy. You have to look crazy in my blue 
hat?” Mrs. Moore looked dumbfounded. 

“Yes, we have to wear our mothers’ old hats. Just 
for a laugh.” 

“Flora Madden Moore! My blue hat is not old, it 
is not crazy, and it’s not laugh-inspiring. I think you 
must be crazy yourself. You’ve seen me wearing that 
hat daily.” 

“Why—” Flopsy faltered, the wind out of her sails. 
“It’s—well—” 

“It’s a perfectly good hat,” Mrs. Moore finished 
for her in a tone that forbade contradiction. “It’s a 
very comfortable, a very becoming, and a very suitable 
hat.” 

“Oh, jinks!” Flopsy wailed in disgust. “Now, what 
shall I do?” 

“My heart aches for your plight,” her mother com¬ 
mented dryly and with some sarcasm. “I am a heart¬ 
less mother, I know, because I won’t hand over my 
second-best hat to you, just so you can give your 
schoolmates something to laugh at. And, of course, 
there’s no chance that they might pull it off your head 
and toss it all over the landscape? Think of my point 
of view. How do you think I’d feel the next day when 
I had to wear that hat, and realized that several hun¬ 
dred children had laughed at it the day before?” 

“Well,” Flopsy was gathering her wits together, “your 
blue hat isn’t funny on you.” 

“I am grateful and I thank you. That is a soothing 
thought. I’m glad that I have not been going around 
town looking like a freak for the last month.” 

“But you see, it’s a lady’s hat, and it would only look 
silly on me,” Flopsy explained. 


94 Almost Fijteen 

“Now, Flora Moore! You are not, positively not, 
going to have my blue hat. Just get the idea right out 
of your head.” There was no mistaking Mrs. Moore’s 
tone. She meant exactly what she said. 

Flopsy looked forlornly into space. 

“What hat will I wear? I have to do as the girls say 
while I am being initiated.” 

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Moore sighed deeply. “Well, per¬ 
haps all is not lost. Perhaps I may be able to find an 
old discarded hat in the attic.” 

When Mr. Moore heard, that night, of the impending 
initiation, he looked both sympathetic and understand¬ 
ing. 

“My dear,” he turned to his wife, “Couldn’t Flopsy 
stay out of school until then? I am afraid the strain of 
looking forward to the ordeal of the initiation, combined 
with her school studies, may be too much for her.” 

“Oh, daddy!” Flopsy knew, now, that he was being 
just silly. 

“Or perhaps scholastic records are not important to 
members of the Alpha Delta Gamma?” he asked ear¬ 
nestly. 

“It’s not the Alpha Delta Gamma! It’s the Delta 
Sigma Delta,” Flopsy corrected. 

“Oh, I beg your pardon!” Mr. Moore put the tip of 
his fingers to his mouth and looked up from under his 
eyebrows. 

“And,” Flopsy went on, “some of the girls in the 
sorority are on the honor roll. You saw Rosemary 
Brewster. Well, she is always on the super-honor roll. 
She is wonderful in everything. She never worries 
about studying. And she goes to a lot of parties, too! ” 


Initiation 95 

“Well, well!” Mr. Moore looked properly impressed. 
“She is a rare creature, beautiful and very brilliant. Is 
she an athlete, too, by any chance?” 

“She is!” Flopsy enthused. “If she concentrated on 
sports, she could go to the Olympic games. She skates, 
swims, runs and—” 

“I understand!” Mr. Moore turned to his wife, “Did 
you hear this, my dear?” 

“Well,” Mrs. Moore’s eyes were twinkling, “I think 
it’s possible. There is always a boy or girl like that in 
high school. There was when I was a girl. They have 
everything!” 

“And she’s popular,” Flopsy added, “and now you 
see—” 

“See what?” Mr. Moore asked intently. “I don’t 
want to miss any of the fine points.” 

“You see you can be popular, be in a sorority, and 
be so good in your studies that you don’t have to 
bother with homework.” 

Mr. Moore put on his glasses and stared at his daugh¬ 
ter. 

“Nothing would make me happier and prouder than 
to have you prove that to me. Good luck to you!” 

Flopsy wriggled in her chair. She did not altogether 
trust her father’s tone. Was he being entirely sincere? 
She never could be sure. 

The Tuesday night before the important Wednesday, 
Flopsy tossed about all night. She was too excited to 
sleep. Everything was in readiness for the big day to 
follow. Her mother had managed to find an old, and 
completely out-of-date hat in the attic. That was one 
thing about her mother Flopsy could always count on. 


96 Almost Fifteen 

She never failed her, even in the little things. Beside 
her bed, ready for the morning, were a brown shoe and 
a white and brown sport shoe. On her bureau, were 
two huge bows, one black and the other red. She had 
received last minute orders to wear her middy on back¬ 
wards, with the tie down the back. 

When her father saw her at breakfast the next morn¬ 
ing, he tipped back in his chair. 

“I wonder if you will take a small billet-doux from 
me to your teacher? It won’t take a minute to com¬ 
pose.” He took a fountain pen out of his pocket. Then 
he searched in all his other pockets for a piece of paper. 

“Ah,” he held up a card, “I’ll use this.” 

He scribbled something on it and handed it to his 
daughter. 

She took it with a mixture of curiosity and appre¬ 
hension. She read, “You have my heartfelt and deep¬ 
est sympathy.” And Mr. Moore had sprawled his name 
in large letters under this brief message. 

Flopsy giggled and handed it to her mother. Mrs. 
Moore laughed and shook her head. 

“And I imagine they will need it,” she said with a 
laugh. “I wonder they put up with it at all.” 

Flopsy was not paying the slightest attention to her 
parents at the moment. Wouldn’t it be exciting to walk 
into her algebra class? She hadn’t thought of Wilton 
Locke very much lately, but now she shivered all over. 
He would notice her this morning. He would be im¬ 
pressed. He was a member of a fraternity, and she was 
going to be a sorority girl. 

She clamped her hat down on her head over her 
ridiculously big hair ribbons. She did look too, too 


Initiation 97 

silly for words! She was purring with satisfaction. She 
was to go straight to the corner of Washington Avenue 
and Park Street. There the Delta Sigma Delta in a 
body would be waiting for her. 

Her father watched her as she prepared to leave the 
house. 

“I would be concerned about your studies today, if 
you had not convinced me that you could be absolutely 
letter perfect in your work, without giving it a thought.” 

Flopsy kissed her father and mother rapturously. 
She flew down the walk. Whom would she meet before 
she met her sorority-sisters-to-be? She had gone only 
a short distance when she almost bumped into Bill 
Forbes and Frank Gordon. 

Bill eyed her curiously. Then the light dawned. 

“I get it!” he announced. “Well! Well!” 

And Flopsy felt still more important. 

“This is going to be fun.” Bill turned to Frank 
Gordon, “we’ve got work to do today, pleasant work,” 
and he rubbed his hands together. “This is going to be 
good!” 

He and Frank walked along with her, one on either 
side. 

“Would you like Frankie and me to take care of 
you today, little Flopsy-wopsy?” Bill asked solicitously. 
“We can be a great help, you’d be surprised to know 
just how much.” 

Flopsy was delighted. Not so very long ago, only a 
year, in fact, Bill Forbes had just been a pest. But 
not now. He was too important. Some day he’d be 
the most important boy at Hamilton. 

“So you’re going to ride the goat!” Bill smirked. 


98 Almost Fifteen 

“We are your pals, Frank and I. Remember the good 
old days at Number Nine? We have to stick together. 
Don’t we, Red?” 

Flopsy giggled. Once, being called “Red” would have 
sent her into a tempest. But not now. She reveled in 
all these nicknames. She had begun to notice that un¬ 
popular girls were never called nicknames—to their 
faces. Only behind their backs. 

“Where are you heading for, Toots?” Bill asked 
blandly. 

“I am meeting Alice Holt at the corner of Washing¬ 
ton and Park Streets. And there will be a few others,” 
Flopsy tried to give significance to this last. 

“We get it, again! How do you like it, Frank? 
There will be Alice Holt. Did you ever hear that name 
before?” 

Frank rolled his eyes around. 

“This is going to be fun,” he grinned. “Count on 
us. We will take care of you today. Never fear. We 
will stick close.” 

Flopsy looked up the street. There they were! 
Every single one of the Delta Sigma Deltas was wait¬ 
ing for her. She saw Alice coming from the opposite 
direction. Flopsy waved both arms in the air, and 
started to run, Frank and Bill at her heels. She won¬ 
dered if the girls would like this. She stopped abruptly. 

“Maybe you better not come any further,” she 
panted. 

“Why Flopsy-Wopsy!” Bill was reproachful. “Do 
you think we would leave you unprotected? You need 
us I” 


Initiation 99 

Alice recognized the boys with Flopsy and was 
thrilled. This was going to be exciting! 

Rosemary came toward them. 

“Run away, little boys. Run away. We are going to 
be too busy to bother with you.” 

Flopsy’s heart turned upside down. There was Wil¬ 
ton Locke! He took in the situation at a glance. She 

A 

would not have to wait until algebra class. 

Flopsy and Alice were ordered to walk ahead, and 
the ten Delta Sigma Deltas marched behind them. 
Also, Wilton Locke, Bill Forbes and Frank Gordon. 

“Do you know what I heard?” Alice whispered 
breathlessly. “Bill and Frank are pledged, too. They 
are going to be initiated in a few weeks.” 

“They are!” Flopsy’s eyes danced. “This is going 
to be grand!” 

As the cavalcade neared the school, crowds of boys 
and girls gathered and stopped to gape. Either they 
were amused, or secretly jealous. 

In the distance, Flopsy saw Fleurette. For one brief 
moment, she felt depressed. But she couldn’t stay that 
way, not today! 

So big a crowd had gathered about them that it at¬ 
tracted the attention of all the stragglers in the back¬ 
ground. They, too, came rushing, pushing and shoving, 
consumed with curiosity. 

“What is it? What’s happened?” were the questions 
each newcomer asked. 

“They say some girl’s cracked her head open—they 
say—two boys nearly killed each other—they say—” 

But as the late arrivals pushed their way to the cen- 


> 

> . ) 

» * ) 

■> > 


) > 


) > * 


100 Almost Fifteen 

ter of the dense mob, they learned that it was only an 
initiation. 

“Take those goofy looking hats off and bow to the 
people/’ Rosemary ordered. 

Alice and Flopsy pulled off their ridiculous hats and 
tried to comply, but they were so hemmed in that they 
couldn’t move. The sound of a bell released them. 

“Inside now,” Rosemary ordered, and her two vic¬ 
tims eagerly marched into the school. Flopsy was look¬ 
ing forward to entering her classroom. She could hear 
the titters already. It was going to be great fun, but 
she must be careful not to go too far. 

She heard the titters that day, to be sure, but she 
also heard, “Sit down at once, Miss Moore, and kindly 
remember that this is an English class,” or a history 
class, or an algebra class, as the case might be. 

She didn’t dare to be too funny. Suppose she were to 
be detained after school? It would be too terrible. 

She was very conscious, as the day wore on, Fleurette 
was avoiding her. Fleurette was not even going to give 
her the satisfaction of laughing at her. Flopsy was 
vaguely disturbed. Fleurette would be sorry some day, 
when she discovered that Flopsy was going to get her 
into the Delta Sigma Delta. Flopsy tried to catch 
Fleurette’s eye in the assembly period, but Fleurette 
was staring at Miss Ellis, the teacher. Flopsy was sure 
that this was pure spite, as Fleurette had never kept 
her eye on any teacher for long. She was only doing 
it today so that she would not have to look at Flopsy. 
But Flopsy knew that Fleurette would feel ashamed 
some day. When Fleurette was being initiated, she 
would want everyone to look at her! 


Initiation 101 

The noon period was the high spot of the day. The 
cafeteria was in a turmoil. Rosemary gave Flopsy some 
commands before she was allowed to join the long line 
wriggling past the counter. 

When it was Flopsy’s turn to give her order, she 
spoke sweetly. “I want one order of chicken a la 
Maryland, garnished with green lizards.” 

The girl who was serving, stopped short and stared. 

“What did you say?” She looked puzzled. 

“I want one order of chicken a la Maryland gar¬ 
nished with green lizards. For dessert, I want candied 
frogs with fudge sauce.” 

Then the girl noticed Flopsy’s big silly hair ribbon, 
and that her middy was on backwards. She grinned, 
and pointed to the big printed menu on the wall. 

“We haven’t any today! I’m very sorry!” 

“How is your mother? I hope she is very well,” 
Flopsy asked with great concern in her voice. 

All over the room, there were titters and snickers. 

“My mother is very well. So is my father and my 
whole family. And would you mind asking me for 
something we have? The line is getting very long 
behind you.” The girl wanted to be goodnatured, but 
she looked dismayed at the rapidly lengthening line 
behind Flopsy. 

“My doctor insists on my having what I asked for,” 
Flopsy answered, with a mock sigh, and she moved on. 
She turned her head and saw that Alice was in sixth 
or seventh place behind her. She was to ask for the 
same things. Flopsy giggled at the thought. 

When the two girls reached their table, they found 
Bill Forbes, Frank Gordon, Wilton Locke and a boy 


102 Almost Fifteen 

they did not know, seated so that their chairs were 
back to back. 

It was all a riot, Flopsy said to herself. But through 
her mind ran one thought. Would she get anything at 
all to eat? Her sorority-sisters-to-be ate their lunches 
with a great many Oh’s and Ah’s. Just before it was 
time for the bell, Flopsy and Alice were fed a few small 
sandwiches. 

“Take a bite.” Rosemary held the sandwich in her 
hand. “And if you take my fingers with it, you will 
regret it,” she threatened darkly. 

Food did not appeal very much to either Alice or 
Flopsy. They were subsisting on excitement. They had 
thought they wanted something to eat, but they only 
nibbled at the proffered food. 

After school, the Delta Sigma Deltas gathered at 
one of the high school’s side doors. Alice and Flopsy 
were told to keep a little apart, while the others held 
a consultation. The Delta Sigma Deltas were a trifle 
worried. They could see that they were not going to 
lose Bill, Frank and Wilton Locke. Some of the girls 
thought it very exciting to have the boys around, and 
insisted that they go ahead with their plans. What 
could the boys do, except add to the fun? 

“All right, then!” Rosemary agreed. “Flopsy Moore 
and Alice Holt, march yourselves up the street. We 
will tell you when to turn.” 

“Right!” Joan shouted in a few blocks. 

“Left! ” Rosemary ordered in another. 

“Left!” Helen yelled at another corner. 

“Stop! ” Joan commanded. They were in front of her 
house. 


Initiation 103 

Alice and Flopsy stood very still. There was another 
consultation. The boys were still trailing them, quietly 
and persistently. 

“Run away, little boys, and play marbles in your own 
back yard,” Rosemary called. 

“Sorry! ” Bill retorted. “We are fresh out of marbles. 
And we don’t have any backyards on hand. We gave 
them to the Salvation Army by mistake.” 

“Let’s go into the house,” Joan suggested. “Maybe 
they will get tired.” 

“O.K.” Rosemary agreed. “March yourselves up 
the walk, you miserable worms!” she ordered Flopsy 
and Alice. 

“Worms can’t march!” Flopsy called back over her 
shoulder, “they crawl.” 

“SILENCE! And no back talk!” Joan commanded. 
“And maybe, at that, you ought to crawl.” 

“That’s a thought!” another Delta Sigma Delta 
called, “Make them crawl!” 

Alice and Flopsy crawled slowly up the walk to 
Joan’s front porch. Passersby stopped and laughed. 
People hung out of automobiles. The three boys leaned 
against a telegraph pole. They did not laugh. They 
were as solemn as wooden Indians. 

“That’s not funny enough!” Bill called with a poker 
face. “You will have to do better than that.” 

“We want our tickets back for this show,” Wilton 
Locke complained sourly. “It’s a flop!” 

Rosemary whispered to Joan. Then she said aloud, 
“Up on your feet, lowly creatures and make a dash 
for the house.” 

In another minute, all of the Delta Sigma Deltas were 


104 Almost Fifteen 

in the house, and the door was slammed. Rosemary 
peeked through the shade on the hall door. 

“The boys are still there!” she said grimly. 

For the next hour, the Delta Sigma Deltas worked 
on the two girls. Flopsy and Alice had their hair twisted 
into dozens of fine braids. Every time either of them 
squealed when her hair was pulled, she was immediately 
rapped on the head with a hair brush. At the end of 
each pig tail either a black or a red ribbon was tied. 

Then the paint box was brought out. Flopsy’s nose 
was painted black, and Alice’s red. Across each fore¬ 
head were drawn the letters ASA. 

“Now, Flopsy, Number One question, and answer 
it truly. In which subject in high school are you stupid, 
dull and backward?” 

“Latin!” she answered meekly. 

“Good! We know that to be the truth!” Rosemary 
nodded approvingly. “We will see that this is remedied 
at once. Do you see this?” She held up a big placard, 
with a cord attached to it. “What do you see?” 

Flopsy read the huge letters. 

AMO—I love 
AM AS—You love 
AMAT—He loves 
AND WHO CARES! 

“Read them again,” Rosemary ordered. 

Over and over, and faster and faster, Flopsy was 
ordered to read the words. 

“Now we will hang the placard around your neck. 
We want you to ask everyone you meet on the street 
to read them to you. By the time the afternoon is over, 



Initiation 105 

you will know them, once and for all!” And Rosemary 
hung the sign about Flopsy’s neck. 

“Now for Alice.” 

Flopsy was a little envious when she saw Alice’s 
placard. It was all about FRANK. She knew that Alice 
liked nothing better on earth than being teased about 
a boy. She could just feel Alice expanding with satis¬ 
faction. 

I LIKE TO BE 
FRANK 

I LIKE PEOPLE WHO ARE 
FRANK 

The word Frank was in red letters, the others in 
black. Alice smirked as it was hung about her neck. 

“Now, we are going for that walk down Spruce 
Street,” Rosemary announced. “We are going calling. 
And if either of you girls is asked to sing, why sing. 
Remember a child who can sing, and who won’t sing, 
must be made to sing.” 

When the procession formed on the street again, the 
girls found the three boys still on their trail. Flopsy 
noticed, a little annoyed, that Frank Gordon actually 
looked pleased when he saw Alice’s sign. Alice managed 
so that he noticed it immediately. Then she giggled, 
and, as Flopsy said to herself scornfully, she pretended 
to be embarrassed. 

With great solemnity, the girls marched on. A few 
seconds later they met two of the high school teachers, 
Miss Howland, a physical training instructor, and Miss 
Allison, who taught music. 

“Stop!” Rosemary ordered. “Miss Howland and 


106 Almost Fifteen 

Miss Allison, wouldn’t you like to hear these girls sing 
for you?” She asked the two teachers. Laughingly, 
they nodded. “Indeed, we would.” 

“Now, together. Put your heads together and sing, 
‘Polly-Wolly-Doodle.’ Harmonize it. And please do 
not distress Miss Allison too much! Remember, her 
ears are sensitive to good music!” 

Flopsy and Alice put their heads together, and 
shouted the words of the song. Flopsy never could 
carry more than six notes of any tune. She was off key, 
almost from the start. Alice had a good voice, but no 
one on earth could keep any kind of pitch, tune or 
harmony with Flopsy. She could send a whole chorus 
off pitch if she sang loudly enough, and she sang loudly 
today! 

Miss Allison shook her head woefully as she laughed. 

“Now I know why that Sophomore B class goes off 
key so often.” 

“Don’t think Flopsy’s trying to be funny,” Joan 
whispered to the teacher. “She can’t help it. It’s the 
best she can do. Isn’t it pitiful?” 

Miss Allison and Miss Howland went on their way, 
highly amused. 

Rosemary turned her head and looked about. Yes, 
those three boys were still here, grim, quiet and deter¬ 
mined. 

For the next few hours, the girls walked up and down 
the street. They went into stores and visited the library. 
They called at the homes of various Delta Sigma Deltas. 

The holy of holies, the secret rites of the initiation, 
were to occur at Helen’s home. Her mother and father 
had gone out for dinner, and the girls were to have the 





Flopsy and Alice shouted the song . 

































108 Almost Fifteen 

house to themselves. Helen’s mother, Mrs. Putnam, 
had left a buffet supper for them on a long table in the 
recreation cellar. The furnace room and laundry were 
entirely separated from this section of the cellar, which 
was a very attractive place, just right for the mysterious 
and solemn ceremony. 

Flopsy’s eyes sought that long table longingly. She 
had lived on excitement all day, and now she needed 
something more substantial. The platters of chicken 
and potato salad were tempting. 

“Hungry! Well, Flopsy dear, you will be fed at once, 
even before we eat.” Before Flopsy knew what was 
happening, she was blindfolded and pushed down into a 
chair. “Now, for Alice,” some one said. 

“Did you ever hear of hors d’oeuvres?” Flopsy was 
asked. She couldn’t tell, now, who was talking. “Little 
appetizers, you know. Tid-bits to make you enjoy your 
dinner better. We have gone to great trouble to see you 
should have something rare. Open your mouth wide. 
Hold your head back.” 

Flopsy gladly, and willingly, held her head back 
and opened her mouth. Something was dropped down 
into it, something long, and wriggling. 

“That’s just a nice smooth worm, you poor little fish.” 
And all the girls shrieked with joy. 

Flopsy’s tongue felt over this wriggling object and 
she let out a weak yelp. Oh, she was positively going 
to be sick. There was an uproar of laughter, as she 
hastily used her handkerchief to remove the “worm” 
from her mouth. 

“You ungrateful creature! Listen, Alice is chewing 
on her worm with loud smacks.” Flopsy felt even worse. 


Initiation 109 

“How does it happen, Alice Holt, that you like 
worms?” 

“Oh, maybe she used to go out in the backyard and 
eat them when she was little,” some one else suggested. 
In the tones of the girls’ voices there was disappoint¬ 
ment that Alice seemed to enjoy her “worm.” 

“Tie her bandage tighter,” another voice suggested. 

“Now for the next little appetizer!” 

Flopsy groaned, but the girls were jubilant. 

“You will like this much better. It’s rare. It’s choice. 
It’s delicious. Open your mouth, honey.” 

Flopsy shook her head. 

“Oh, yes you do! You’ll never take the secret oath 
until you’ve eaten this delicacy. No one ever entered 
the sacred portals of the Delta Sigma Delta who did 
not first obey orders.” 

Flopsy opened her mouth a little. Into it was poked 
something horribly squashy. 

“Just take one bite. That’s all!” 

Desperately, Flopsy’s teeth bit into the slippery thing, 
and then she screamed. 

“It’s just a great horned toad, carefully skinned. The 
Horned Toad is sacred to the Delta Sigma Delta.” 

Flopsy slid off her chair onto the floor. For a few 
seconds, the girls were in a panic. They thought she 
had fainted, and some one ripped off her bandages. 
She was a pale sea green. 

“Are you all right?” They were half hysterical from 
fright and mirth. “Look at Alice. She is eating her 
toad! In fact, she’s swallowed it!” 

Flopsy, wavering, looked at Alice, and crumpled up 

completely. 


110 Almost Fifteen 

“For mercy’s sake!” Rosemary gasped, “this is a fine 
fix.” 

“Listen to us, please, Flopsy. The first thing we gave 
you was spaghetti, and the second one was an oyster.” 

Flopsy opened her eyes. At the sight of Alice’s self- 
satisfied expression, she shut them again. 

“I guessed!” Alice boasted. “I knew they’d never 
feed us anything horrible.” 

“You knew!” 

“I guessed!” Alice insisted. 

Flopsy was dragged to her feet. 

“Let me see,” she begged in a weak, pitiful little voice. 

The girls gladly rushed to get a plate of spaghetti 
and some oysters. Flopsy was giving them no little 
worry. Her face was still pale, and those freckles across 
the bridge of her nose, usually scarcely discernible, 
were standing out like ginger snaps. 

Flopsy looked down upon her recent diet, and 
laughed. Her laugh was wobbly, but she wanted to be 
a good sport. She must be a good sport! 

The girls hovered about now, trying to entice her 
with their genuine delicacies. It didn’t seem possible 
that only a few minutes before she had longed for 
chicken salad. Now, she ate it with an effort. However, 
before she had eaten very much, her appetite returned. 

After their feast, Flopsy and Alice were told to kneel 
on a rug. 

Rosemary stood before them, her face very solemn. 

“Hold up your right hands. Now, Flora Madden 
Moore, repeat this solemn oath. 

“By the Great Horned Toad, and the Weird Eyed 


Initiation 111 

Owl, I will never reveal or betray the secrets of the 
Delta Sigma Delta.” 

Flopsy repeated the “oath” trembling with excite¬ 
ment. What a thrill! Alice repeated it after her. 

“Due to an unforeseen occurrence, to be exact, 
Flopsy’s attitude toward our beloved and sacred Horned 
Toad, we will not treat you girls too roughly. We were 
going to muss you up a bit. But right here and now, we 
will teach you our password. It will take time, but if 
you are too, too slow, we will have to bounce you about a 
little. I will say it once. Listen to it very carefully. 
TRANSMAGNIFICANDUBANDALCIALTO. Sim¬ 
ple and neat, but impossible to guess unless you are a 
Delta Sigma Delta. Repeat it. You first, Flora Moore. 

“Trans—” Flopsy began, and broke off with a giggle. 

“Goon! Goon!” 

Flopsy shook her head and giggled again. 

“Mag—” Rosemary prompted. 

“Mag—” Flopsy repeated. 

“Nifi—” Rosemary scowled warningly. “This is bad, 
very bad. If you had not threatened to die on our hands, 
we would have to give you a few whacks.” 

“Nifi—” Flopsy said meekly. 

“Can—” Rosemary frowned. 

“Can —what?” Flopsy asked still unsquelched. 

“We will discipline you in a minute,” Rosemary said 
sternly. “Now you say ‘du.’ ” 

“Du!” Flopsy ducked. 

“Ban—” Rosemary went on grimly. 

This Flopsy echoed promptly. 

“Say the rest of it in one piece. I am getting ex- 


112 Almost Fifteen 

hausted. I am not being initiated, you are. Dalci-alto.” 

“Dalci-alto—” Flopsy snatched the phrases out of 
Rosemary’s mouth. 

For a half hour, Flopsy and Alice chanted the pass¬ 
word. 

“Louder! Faster!” came the orders. 

The other girls began to say it with them. They 
shouted it, whispered it, and yodeled it! The cellar rang 
with it. In fact, it threatened to tear the roof off the 
house. 

“Now you are to know the most secret and solemn 
meaning of Delta Sigma Delta. It stands, so we are 
told, for some Greek words, We are Unique Freaks,’ ” 
Rosemary chanted, slowly and solemnly. 

“WHAT WAS THAT?” a voice asked shrilly. 

“What was what?” one of the girls gasped. 

“A noise in the furnace room!” Helen Putnam fal¬ 
tered weakly, and pointed with a trembling finger. 

There was no sound in the cellar, but the heavy 
breathing of twelve frightened girls. 

“What did you think you heard?” Rosemary managed 
to get her wits together, and her tongue moving. 

“A noise!” Helen repeated, staring in fascinated ter¬ 
ror at the furnace room. 

“What kind of noise?” Rosemary asked in a hollow 
tone. 

“Like—” Helen moistened her lips, “it sounded like 
someone or something snorting.” 

“Doing what?” Several girls demanded shrilly. 

“Snorting!” Helen repeated, in a small quavering 
voice. 

“I—don’t—care—for—things—that snort,” Flopsy 



Initiation 113 

managed to gasp. She looked on the verge of a severe 
relapse. 

Pandemonium broke loose. There was a mad scram¬ 
ble for the staircase. 

The last girl was dragged, by several pairs of arms, 
over the doorsill, and the door slammed after her. 

“Lock it! Lock it!” several of the girls implored. 

Helen Putnam obeyed instantly, her fingers shaking 
so she could scarcely control them. 

“Now, what?” Rosemary managed to get her voice 
under control. “What shall we do?” 

“Call the police!” Flopsy demanded. 

“What could I say?” Rosemary asked. “I can’t ask 
them to come and get a snorting ‘what’s-it’ in the 
cellar!” 

The girls were in a huddle in the Putnam kitchen. 
Then they all heard something . Their faces blanched. 
It was as rhythmical as the distinct beat of tom-toms 
in the jungle. 

TRANS — MAG — NIFI — CAN — DU — BAN — 
DALCI—ALTO. 

The girls never moved. Not even one eye of the 
twelve pairs batted or blinked. They were simply petri¬ 
fied. 

This chant was repeated with the same solemn tom¬ 
tom effect. 

With a frantic scramble the girls rushed out of the 
kitchen and dashed for the front door. In another 
second, they were all standing in a shivering group on 
the front porch. 

TRANS — MAG — NIFI — CAN — DU — BAN — 
DALCI—ALTO. 


114 Almost Fifteen 

Each girl peered into the white face nearest her. 

“By — the — Great Horn — Toad — and — Weird — 
Eyed—Owl!” 

“Well!” Rosemary muttered, in grim cold tone, we 
might as well go into the house. You can’t fool me. 
That was Wilton Locke!” 

“Unique Freaks!” The air was filled with this war- 
whoop. 

“And that ” Flopsy’s eyes narrowed, “is Bill Forbes! ” 

Silently and solemnly the Delta Sigma Deltas, 
stripped ruthlessly of their mystery and secrecy, 
trailed into the house. And they closed the door behind 
them. 


Chapter Five 

Flopsy’s Black Eye 

A N HOUR later, Flopsy came home. To Mr. 
and Mrs. Moore, who were sitting in the living- 
room, her face was the picture of bleak and 
tragic despair. 

“Why, Flopsy!” Mrs. Moore cried out in alarm, 
“What is it?” 

Flopsy dropped into a chair. She was very white. 
Her lips were quivering. 

Mr. Moore looked up over his glasses. He did not 
feel in a laughing mood. He, too, was alarmed. 

“Well, if an initiation did this to you, I call them 
stuff and nonsense. I disapprove of them!” he bristled. 
“A high school girl! A bunch of kids! That’s all!” 

“The girls didn’t do anything! It was the boys!” 
Flopsy managed to say. 

“The boys?” Mrs. Moore repeated in amazement. 
“What did they have to do with it?” 

“They followed us, and followed us, and then they 
got into Helen Putnam’s cellar. They heard everything! 
All our secrets!” 

“Oh!” Mr. Moore relaxed. “Well, don’t tell me, that 
you are going to let a few half-baked young fools get 
you down?” He grew annoyed, as he spoke, for his 

115 


116 Almost Fijteen 

family pride demanded that Flopsy should be unvan¬ 
quished. 

“Who was it? How did it happen?” Mrs. Moore 
intervened quickly. 

“Bill Forbes, Frank Gordon, and a boy named Wil¬ 
ton Locke.” Flopsy shivered as she said the last name. 

“Well!” Mr. Moore exclaimed, “I met that trio when 
I went around the corner to get a newspaper, and they 
said that they had just seen you. I was talking to Bill. 
Who was that apple-cheeked boy with the big brown 
eyes? He’d be very pretty, if he had a chin.” 

“Didn’t have a what?” Flopsy was startled out of 
her tragic pose. 

“A chin!” Mr. Moore touched his. “You know, this 
formation of bone and flesh, most people have under 
their mouths.” 

For an instant, Flopsy forgot her recent calamity 
and stormed inwardly at her father’s description of 
Wilton Locke. No chin! What a thing to say. And 
for that matter, she didn’t relish “apple-cheeked” 
either. Her secret admiration for Wilton Locke was 
crumbling painfully. 

“Well, why didn’t the Putnams lock their cellar, or 
was it flock’ against ‘Locke’?” Mr. Moore tried to 
arouse Flopsy. Poor kid! Fie felt sorry for her. 

“We don’t know,” Flopsy shook her head forlornly. 

“Well, you are not going to let those boys have the 
last laugh, are you?” Mr. Moore persisted. His voice 
was raised. His daughter wasn’t going to be ridiculed 
by a lot of stupid boys. 

“We don’t know what we are going to do.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of know- 


Flopsy’s Black Eye 117 

ing they had bothered you in the least. I’d laugh and 
be mysterious. That’s the ticket.” 

“But they’ll shout our password all over,” Flopsy’s 
voice shook. 

“Listen to me, Flora Moore. You have none of the 
Moore blood in you, if you cave in. Keep your chin 
up! You’ve got one, even if that apple-cheeked boy 
hasn’t.” 

“Your father is right!” Mrs. Moore laughed. “You 
should try at once to see how clever you can be! Don’t 
let them feel that they have outwitted you.” 

“We were thinking of the Hamiltonian,” Flopsy 
answered, her spirit returning a little. “They’ll surely 
put something in about us. The whole school will know. 
They’ll think it’s a swell joke.” 

“So it is, but aren’t you on the Hamiltonian? You can 
stop it from getting into the magazine.” 

“I don’t think so—there are several members of the 
Alpha Phi Psi on the Board, and they are our rivals.” 
Flopsy looked very sad. 

“Well,” Mr. Moore went on, “you won’t be a joke, 
if you laugh first. That’s all I can say. Fix up a new 
sorority. That’s the solution!” 

“We thought of that at once.” Flopsy brightened. 
“That’s what we’ll have to do.” 

“That’s the ticket! That’s the spirit! I’d never let 
a chinless, half-baked boy get me down! Don’t be a 
quitter!” Mr. Moore beamed approvingly. 

For the next few days the erstwhile Delta Sigma 
Deltas hung on telephone wires. Flopsy telephoned 
Alice. Rosemary telephoned Flopsy. Helen Putnam 
telephoned Rosemary. Joan telephoned Flopsy. Their 



Helen 


Whole families went mad! 





Flopsy’s Black Eye 119 

mothers were nearly wild. Whole families were on the 
verge of madness. More than one father threatened to 
“rip the darn telephone right out of the house.” 

The boys were alarmingly silent. They said nothing, 
and the lack of comment made the girls both suspicious 
and uneasy. 

There was a meeting of the Hamiltonian Board three 
days later. It was called for three-thirty in the French 
classroom. Rosemary walked to the door of the room 
with Flopsy. 

“Do your best! Find out all you can,” she begged, 
“and beware of Larry Dugan. I think he writes that 
‘Look Who’s Here!’ column. And he’s an Alpha Phi 
Psi.” 

Flopsy nodded. At the moment, she was very con¬ 
scious of the responsibility that the girls had placed 
upon her shoulders. It was up to her to “save the faces” 
of the Delta Sigma Deltas. 

The Hamiltonian was a magazine, while some of the 
nearby high schools had only newspapers. It was pub¬ 
lished quarterly, and the second issue, due in a short 
time, was to come out before Christmas. 

Flopsy was thrilled right down to her toes by this 
staff meeting. She was sure it was exactly like the 
procedure on a newspaper going to press. She had 
watched, fascinated, the motion picture version of the 
newspaper business, and now she seemed to be a part 
of a similar atmosphere. The meeting was in an uproar 
as the printing teacher, Mr. Gilman, walked in. 

“Subside for a minute!” he shouted. “Have you 
youngsters got all your material in? Day after tomor¬ 
row is the deadline!” 


120 Almost Fifteen 

Flopsy loved that word deadline! It did sound so 
like her conception of a newspaper. 

“Dugan!” Mr. Gilman roared, and he had to roar, 
or he wouldn’t have been heard, “don’t take any more 
material for your ‘Look Who’s Here!’ because we 
can’t give any more space to it.” 

Flopsy looked at Larry Dugan, her heart beating 
wildly. He caught her eye, gave her a big wink, and 
stuck his tongue in his cheek. This was far from 
reassuring. What he had in mind, she’d give the world 
and all to know! 

“All club news must be in. Eileen O’Brien, you 
haven’t handed in your notes on the Glee Club or the 
French Club.” Mr. Gilman went on, “Miss Moore, I 
understand that you are to take over the selection of 
the stories and poems submitted. How are you com¬ 
ing?” 

“I have one swell story, I think. About the other, I 
can’t say.” She touched her forefinger to her lips. “I 
wrote it!” 

They all laughed. 

“Well, be sure to let Miss Addison of the English 
Department see it as soon as possible.” He said good- 
naturedly, “I imagine it will get by if it’s like your 
other two.” 

When Flopsy got home that night, the telephone was 
ringing. 

“Answer that, for goodness’ sakes,” Mrs. Moore 
called. “It’s nearly driven me mad for the last half 
hour. Every last friend and acquaintance you have 
has called.” 

Flopsy rushed to the telephone. It was Rosemary. 


Flopsy's Black Eye 121 

“Well, sugar plum, what did you find out?” she asked 
breathlessly. 

“Nothing! That old ‘Look Who’s Here’ column is 
all ‘set up.’ ” Flopsy was pleased at the opportunity of 
using the phrase, “Set up.” “And Larry Dugan had a 
wicked look in his eye. He’s up to something. You 
can’t fool me. Isn’t it simply terrible? We’ll just have 
to wait!” 

“How long?” Rosemary asked in a mock sepulchral 
tone. 

“Nearly ten days,” Flopsy informed her grimly. 
“How do you like that?” 

“I don’t, not one single bit,” Rosemary laughed, “but 
we won’t weep, will we? We’ll show them that we can 
take it!” 

“We sure will!” Flopsy chirped. 

There was nothing now for the Delta Sigma Deltas 
to do but wait. 

Meanwhile, Flopsy had something else to fret about, 
the Sophomore party. It was only four days away, 
and she hadn’t had a bid. Alice had a coveted bid, for 
Frank Gordon had asked her. Flopsy was very much 
annoyed because Alice was strutting about as though 
she had been highly honored. To top it all, Fleurette 
had stopped her that morning on the way to school 
and, with a very self-satisfied expression, had asked, 
“What are you going to wear to the Sophomore party?” 
Then she watched Flopsy’s face. 

“Well,” Flopsy’s face flushed, “well, I haven’t made 
up my mind yet.” 

“I’m getting a new dress,” Fleurette purred, “and 
new evening slippers.” 


122 Almost Fifteen 

Flopsy’s curiosity, and her determination not to give 
Fleurette too much satisfaction, did battle. Finally her 
curiosity won. She was burning to know if Fleurette 
had a bid. She was frantically planning what she would 
say and do if Fleurette were really going. 

“Who are you going with?” Flopsy had to ask. She 
couldn’t restrain the impulse any longer. 

“With Harold Brownley.” Fleurette tossed the name 
off lightly, as though acquiring the invitation had been 
a very simple matter. She’d hate Flopsy to know just 
how she had tricked the unsuspecting Harold into giving 
her the bid. She had deliberately wangled the invitation, 
and it had been a far from easy undertaking. 

Harold Brownley! Harold Brownley had been in 
their graduating class at Number Nine, and Flopsy had 
always looked down upon him in scorn. He was just a 
sneak and a sissy in her estimation. Since then he had 
grown taller until now Flopsy thought that he looked 
just like a long, thin, yellow string bean. His hair was 
silvery white, and so were his eyebrows and eyelashes. 
His skin was a pale yellow! He wasn’t a prize, Flopsy 
thought, even though Fleurette, at the moment, was 
as proud as though she had won the most important 
medal in the world. 

“Who are you going with?” Fleurette persisted 
sweetly. She was getting even, she hoped, for the last 
week or two. 

“That would be telling.” Flopsy answered, with what 
she hoped was a mysterious smile. “Won’t you be 
surprised?” 

Fleurette looked disappointed, but, at the same time, 
a little suspicious. 


Flopsy's Black Eye 123 

“Who is Bill Forbes going with?” Fleurette asked, 
her eyes on Flopsy’s face. 

Flopsy’s heart went down into her shoes. This was 
terrible. She longed to say, “I’m not going to the old 
thing. I’m not interested.” But that would be very 
risky. She was on the committee, and she ought to go. 
Besides, she might get a last minute bid. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Flopsy snapped, her 
patience exhausted. 

“He’s been walking home lately with Helen Putnam,” 
Fleurette went on ruthlessly. She hoped this thrust 
would irritate Flopsy. It did, but Flopsy wasn’t going 
to give Fleurette the satisfaction of knowing how much. 

“Does Harold know how to dance?” Flopsy parried. 
“I hope so, because if his feet ever landed on yours—” 

“He does!” Fleurette retorted, without knowing 
whether he did or not. 

Both girls were now equally annoyed, and, by mutual 
consent, the subject was dropped. A heavy snow was 
falling, and they switched the conversation to that 
always safe topic—the weather. 

That night, Flopsy reached home with a heavy heart. 
She had been getting more and more depressed all day. 
All she could think of was the dance. It didn’t seem 
possible that only a year or so ago she had hated boys, 
and had paid no attention to them. Now there was 
nothing on earth she wanted more than that one boy 
should ask her to one dance. 

Mrs. Moore found her daughter curled up in a for¬ 
lorn heap in a big chair. 

“Now what? Have the boys published your secrets 
yet?” 




124 Almost Fifteen 

“The Hamiltonian isn’t out yet.” Flopsy’s voice was 
suspiciously husky. 

“Come on, out with it.” Mrs. Moore smiled. “You 
might as well tell me now. You always do in the end.” 

“It’s that old Sophomore Dance. I’m on the com¬ 
mittee, and—” her face flamed with misery and em¬ 
barrassment, “I have to go and I haven’t had a bid.” 

“Ah!” Mrs. Moore murmured. “So that’s it. One 
of life’s little tragedies. Oh, I am not teasing you, my 
dear. I am sorry. I know how a thing like that can 
hurt a girl of your age. And for many years to come, 
situations like this may arise again. Flopsy, has it 
ever entered your pretty little red head that you have 
brought some of this on yourself? You see, you have 
gone around snubbing the boys, and denouncing them 
all as ‘pests.’ Now you find that, after all, they come 
in quite handy at times. Other dances, other parties, 
will be coming. And you will want to go to them.” 

“I won’t chase them the way other girls do. And I 
won’t go out with ‘saps’ and ‘pills.’ I’d rather stay 
home.” Flopsy protested, but her voice was full of 
misery. 

“Now, Flopsy,” Mrs. Moore said soothingly, a quiet 
smile on her face, “I wouldn’t say that. A popular girl 
never does. And it never rings quite true, for it doesn’t 
fool most people at all. I don’t believe you really enjoy 
those very sour grapes you are chewing on. If you do, 
there certainly is no accounting for taste!” 

Flopsy turned her head away. Mrs. Moore put her 
hand on her daughter’s bright head. 

“You know, I’d try, if I were you, being pleasant to 
all the boys. Play no favorites. Don’t snub even the 


Flopsy’s Black Eye 125 

least of them, the lowliest ‘pest’ or ‘pill/ These things 
get around, you know. The boys resent slights to their 
pals and friends from a silly girl who is ‘priding’ herself 
on being ‘fussy.’ You might do worse than to go to a 
dance with a dong yellow string bean.’ If you acted, 
and looked, as though you were having a good time, the 
boys would come around asking for dances. Once 
they realize what a barrel of fun our little redheaded 
Flopsy is, you will have plenty of bids.” 

Flopsy was too wretched to take all of this in. But 
some of it got under her skin. But, oh goodness, it 
didn’t help her for this party in a few days. Not a bit! 

In bed that night, she tried inventing excuses for her 
probable non-appearance at the party. She fell asleep 
just hating all boys. Her mother couldn’t understand, 
for her mother had never really known the boys at 
Hamilton High! 

The next afternoon, Flopsy had just said goodbye 
to Alice, and had resigned herself to walking the rest 
of the way home alone, when she heard a shout behind 
her. She turned her head. Bill Forbes was sliding 
toward her on the icy pavement. 

“Hello, Red!” he called. “How do you like oysters? 
Raw! Raw!” 

Flopsy’s temper began to rise. Although she had 
gotten over being irritated by the nickname “Red,” 
she did not like the reference to oysters. But her 
mother’s advice of the day before came to mind. She 
stood waiting for him. 

“It would be too bad if you fell, for I’d just let you 
lie there, and laugh myself sick!” Flopsy’s eyes were 
dancing and her dimples showed. 


126 Almost Fifteen 

With one more long slide, Bill was at her side. 

“Would you? Well, you’ve no idea how I laughed 
a few days ago. I didn’t laugh until I was sick, I laughed 
until I was dead” 

“So that’s what’s the matter with you? You’re dead. 
When is the funeral? I suppose, as treasurer, I’ll have 
to pay the bill for the class flowers. And won’t I enjoy 
it!” 

Bill walked along with her. They were enjoying this 
brilliant conversation. 

“By the way,” Bill’s face flushed to the roots of his 
unmanageable hair. “Are you going to that Sophomore 
party?” 

Flopsy’s heart turned over. She shook her head. 

“There’s Frank. I have something I want to tell 
him.” Bill put his fingers to his lips, and blew a long 
shrill whistle through them. He was intent on attracting 
Frank’s attention. 

Flopsy’s heart couldn’t turn over. It stopped beat¬ 
ing altogether. 

As Bill strode ahead of her in Frank’s direction, he 
turned his head. Over his shoulder he tossed off, “Say, 
how about my piloting your body down to that party?” 

“O.K.” Flopsy grinned. 

Bill nodded, and then began to sprint. 

Flopsy walked on air all the way home. It didn’t 
seem possible. Although Bill wasn’t handsome, he was 
getting to be very important at Hamilton. Everybody 
knew him. No one could look down on a future foot¬ 
ball star. No one! He was much better than Frank 
Gordon or Harold Brownley. She was glad she didn’t 
have to go to the dance with a string bean. 


Flopsy’s Black Eye 127 

Mrs. Moore was delighted. She had known just how 
mortified Flopsy would have been if she had had to 
stay away from that dance because she did not have 
a partner. Mrs. Moore had never forgotten her own 
high school days, never for one minute. 

“What will I wear?” Flopsy asked breathlessly. 

“My dear, what can you wear except your brides¬ 
maid dress? It’s only a year old, and you’ve worn it 
only twice since—” 

Flopsy’s face showed her disappointment. “I suppose 
so,” she said slowly, “but I’ve grown since then, and 
it’s too short!” 

“It must come to your ankles.” 

“But I’d like a dress which came right down to the 
ground.” 

“Perhaps you’ll be glad that you won’t have a floor 
length dress at your first dance. You might step on 
a longer one.” 

Flopsy wasn’t going to argue about anything. She 
was far too content. What a relief! She wouldn’t let 
Alice or Fleurette know—not ever—just when had 
Bill asked her. She’d be mysterious. 

That night, she crept into her mother’s room and 
removed the cherished hostess gown from its hanger. 
The previous night she had been too miserable to give it 
even a passing thought. She primped and preened be¬ 
fore her mirror when she returned to her own room. 
She made believe she was “flirting” with her partners 
at the dance. What a lot of fun that must be! She 
couldn’t wait to be eighteen. 

The telephone rang downstairs. 

“Flopsy! Flopsy!” her mother called. 


128 Almost Fifteen 

She hastily took off the hostess gown, tossed it across 
her bed, and flew downstairs. 

It was Alice. Could Flopsy go coasting! It was 
simply marvellous! The moon was full! Everybody 
would be there on the hill. Alice was sputtering with 
excitement. 

“What time is it? I’ve got to do my homework.” 
Flopsy’s voice was raised deliberately. She hoped her 
mother and father would be properly impressed by this 
conscientious remark. 

“It’s only seven-thirty! We can be in by nine. We 
are going to Magnolia Avenue. That isn’t one of the 
streets set off by the police, but it’s the best. Come on! ” 

Flopsy put her hand over the telephone and called, 
“Mother, can I go coasting? Everybody is going. They 
say it’s wonderful. I can get up early to do my home¬ 
work. I can, honestly. Say I can, can’t I?” 

“You can of course! But the question is, may you?” 
Mr. Moore called back. Flopsy sighed. Her father 
always teased her about the difference between “can” 
and “may.” 

“May I? Please, may I?” 

Mrs. Moore came to her side. “Perhaps it would be 
all right. I am having a committee meeting of the 
Hospital Board here tonight. The doorbell might dis¬ 
turb you at your homework. But be in by nine, or 
shortly after.” 

“O.K., Alice,” Flopsy had turned back to the tele¬ 
phone. “I’ll be seeing you.” 

Flopsy met Alice before they reached the top of the 
Magnolia Avenue hill. 

“Say, Flopsy, what do you know? What do you sup- 


Flopsy 1 s Black Eye 129 

pose? Who do you think’s going to be on the hill to¬ 
night? Frank just told me. You’ll never, never guess! ” 

“Well, then, I give up!” Flopsy was bubbling over. 

“Milton Brooks!” 

“What’s he doing home?” Flopsy asked excitedly. It 
would be fun to see Milton again. He had been one of 
their particular group at Number Nine, and Bill Forbes’ 
best friend. He had been away at a prep school since 
summer. 

“Oh, he had a dose of the flu and they sent him home. 
He’s not going back until after the Christmas holidays.” 

“Oh, I must write Janet Dudley. Do you remember 
how he chased after her all the time? I wonder if he’s 
changed much?” 

“I heard he’s grown stunningt” Alice chirped, and 
Flopsy looked at her quickly. She could see that Alice 
was going to try to take Janet’s place. 

“Oh, I just thought of something screaming! I bet 
you’re going to wear your bridesmaid dress to the 
Sophomore party. We will look like twins, won’t we?” 
Flopsy’s voice was sparkling with excitement. 

Alice stared at her. She had thought that Flopsy 
wouldn’t get a “bid” to the Sophomore party. 

“Who are you going with? You didn’t tell me you 
were going,” Alice returned abruptly. 

“Of course I’m going. What did you think? I’m on 
the committee.” 

“Well, who with?” Alice wanted to know. 

“Oh, somebody,” Flopsy answered airily. 

“Oh, don’t be so silly!” Alice’s tone was suddenly 
irritable. “What’s the mystery?” 

“The only mystery is, why are you so curious? Are 


130 Almost Fifteen 

you going to wear your bridesmaid dress? That’s more 
important.” 

“I won’t tell you until you tell me who is taking you 
to the dance.” 

“Well, if you must know, Bill Forbes.” 

“Bill Forbes!” Alice stared at Flopsy intently. She 
wasn’t at all sure she was pleased. Bill Forbes was 
beginning to be recognized as an important person at 
Hamilton. Frank, she was sure, never, never would be. 
And Flopsy, in turn watched her most intimate friend 
closely. She knew her so well, that she could sense her 
feelings. Flopsy felt distinctly pleased and satisfied, 
for she knew that Alice had begun to realize that Bill 
was going to be a leader! 

“When did he ask you?” Alice asked after a pause. 

“Quite a while ago,” Flopsy answered promptly. 
Four hours was quite a while. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Alice was frowning. 

“Because—and because!” Flopsy teased. “Let’s run. 
I can hear the others shouting!” Flopsy was bubbling 
over as usual. 

“How-do-you-like-your-oysters? Rawl Raw!” two 
boys’ voices shouted boisterously. The girls turned 
their heads. Bill Forbes was hurrying toward them, 
and, in the bright moonlight, they could see that the 
other boy was Milton Brooks. 

Milton Brooks had grown up in a few months. He 
was nearly sixteen, but he looked eighteen. And Flopsy 
noticed that Alice was quite right. He was stunning, 
simply stunning! 

“Well, how’ya be, there?” Milton grinned as he came 
near them flashing a row of beautiful white teeth. 


Flopsy’s Black Eye 131 

Flopsy racked her brain to think which movie star he 
was like. She couldn’t identify the resemblance, but 
he looked like some one! She remembered, in time, to 
include Bill in her own flashing smile. After all, Bill 
had come to her rescue at a very wretched moment in 
her life. 

“Well, well,” Milton gave Flopsy an approving look, 
“so our little redhead is growing up. Not bad, not half 
bad. What do’ya think Bill? I wouldn’t call her a 
unique freak, would you?” 

Flopsy was delighted. This was fun. This was the 
first time since that awful night of her initiation that 
she could laugh over it. 

“Hello, Milton!” Alice put in. She did not like being 
left out of the chatter. “ ’Member me?” 

“Sure thing! And Alice is growing up, too. How’s 
Frank deporting himself these days? Good old 
Frankie!” he said in a condescending tone which an¬ 
noyed Alice. She knew Milton had never liked Frank 
Gordon. 

“Ask them again, Milt, how they like their oysters?” 
Bill prompted. “Especially the little redhead! Ask her 
how she likes munching a toad. Yum! yum! Nice, so 
squashy and tasty.” 

The girls squealed, and Flopsy rolled her eyes around 
and groaned. The boys let out a whoop of joy. Milton 
decided that teasing Flopsy was going to be more fun 
than he’d had in weeks. 

“How about someone’s lending a guy a sled so he 
can take the little redhead for a ride?” Milton turned 
to Bill. 

Bill did not look altogether pleased at this broad hint. 


132 Almost Fifteen 

“O.K.” he agreed abruptly, and handed his sled to 
Milton. 

After Milton had walked off with Flopsy and his sled, 
Bill discovered that Flopsy had left hers behind her. 

“Well, I like his nerve!” Bill scowled. “All right. 
How about you and me, Alice?” 

“You can take my sled,” Alice offered eagerly. 

“Oke!” Bill answered shortly. 

The hill on which they stood was very steep, and a 
sheet of rough, broken ice covered its surface. At its 
foot, a road ran parallel to the river. Along the river 
bank, and just beyond the road, was a stone retaining 
wall. 

Bill and Milton took turns taking the “redhead” 
down the hill, and Flopsy began to wonder if this sudden 
popularity weren’t as much of a problem, as her des¬ 
perate yearning for just one boy friend to take her to 
the dance. 

“Do you ever go to the movies in the evening?” 
Milton asked her, and Bill looked startled. 

“Sometimes.” Flopsy answered cautiously. She 
wouldn’t have admitted, for anything in the wide world, 
that she had never been to a movie with a boy! 

“Couldn’t we take in the first show, sometime?” 
Milton suggested. “I’ve got to get in early these nights. 
My Dad wants me to be home every night by ten. You 
see, I am still supposed to be an invalid.” 

“I couldn’t stay out later than ten myself,” Flopsy 
answered uneasily. 

“Fast worker!” Bill scowled sulkily. 

“I think I’d like to go down the hill by myself,” 
Flopsy interrupted quickly. “I’ll take my own sled.” 


Flopsy’s Black Eye 133 

She threw herself down flat on her brother’s sled, 
the way children do, and ignored both boys. 

The sled hardly seemed to touch the icy ground as 
it shot swiftly down the almost perpendicular incline. 
As Flopsy neared the bottom, she knew she would have 
to make a broad turn on to the road along the river. 
To her horror, the steering apparatus would not respond. 
She tugged at it frantically. She was almost at the foot 
of the hill. She tugged again. Now, she was crossing 
the road at the foot of the hill, but she could not either 
stop or swerve the sled! She had a decision to make 
in one ghastly second. Should she take the stone wall 
with the top of her head, or with her face? She had a 
beautiful vision of how her face must look at the 
Sophomore dance. She lowered her head. 

And then, as in a confused dream, Flopsy felt people 
tugging at her. Someone was saying from way, way off, 

i 

“It’s good that there was some snow piled up against 
that wall.” 

“And it’s fortunate she had on a hood!” 

“Do you think she is unconscious?” This voice 
sounded closer. 

“Oh, yes, her eyes are open. You are conscious, aren’t 
you, Flopsy?” The person now talking was very close. 

“She acts pretty darn funny to me. She’s knocked 
silly.” This voice howled in her ear like the wind. She 
had come back to earth with a bang! 

“I am not knocked unconscious! I am not knocked 
silly!” Good gracious, where had her voice gone? It 
came roaring to her from an enormous distance. She 
wished things and people would stay near her. She 
shook herself. She clutched at an arm near her and 


134 Almost Fifteen 

clung to it tightly. She was delighted to hear Bill’s 
voice. 

“O.K. Flcpsy. Everything all right?” he asked anx¬ 
iously. 

“Oh, yes!” She pulled her arm away. Then she 
blinked and closed her eyes. She opened them again 
wide. She saw the hill glistening like diamonds, in the 
brilliant moonlight. She saw the coasters, but now most 
of them were crowded around her. 

“How are you, Flopsy?” Alice’s tone was full of 
anxiety. 

“Oh, I am perfectly all right! Perfectly!” she shook 
herself, and began to beat the snow off her ski suit. 

“She’s all right!” Milton shouted. “A miracle!” 

Flopsy stood up, and took a few steps forward. 

Bill grabbed her arm. “Listen to me. You aren’t 
going down that hill again alone. You don’t know how 
to steer.” 

Flopsy said nothing. She felt so funny, so light¬ 
headed. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t answer Bill’s 
order. 

“I thought she was dead,” some one, somewhere was 
saying. “She surely looked dead when we picked her 
up.” 

Bill and Milton were propelling her up the hill, one 
at either side of her. Flopsy blinked. Her eyes were 
dazzled by the shimmering glitter of ice. The road up 
that hill seemed to go up and up, until it was lost in 
the starry sky above. Maybe she was dead after all. 
That was it! She was dead, and she was climbing a 
glowing white path of glory right up to the Pearly 
Gates. Wouldn’t the boys be surprised, when they 


Flopsy’s Black Eye 135 

reached the top of this hill, if she just floated out of 
their hold, and disappeared into the moonlit heavens? 

Milton was pulling her curls, but she couldn’t feel it. 
She could hear him talking, but in such a funny, hazy 
way. Everything had been mixed up since she had hit 
the stone wall. 

“Look, Bill, look at her hair! It’s just the color of 
our Irish setter, ‘Erin.’ Not bad! Not at all bad!” 

Bill laughed. But not heartily. He wished Milton 
wouldn’t bother him with questions about Flopsy. He 
didn’t see why he was suddenly so interested. 

“Sure you are all right?” Bill asked as soon as they 
reached the top of the hill. 

Flopsy nodded mechanically. She wasn’t sure of any¬ 
thing. She still felt too lightheaded to think. But, ap¬ 
parently, she wasn’t dead. At least she wasn’t floating 
away. 

“I’ll take your sled, Flopsy,” Bill said with a swag¬ 
ger. “And I’ll show you how to steer it around a cor¬ 
ner. You shouldn’t try to knock chunks out of a stone 
wall with your head. The town will sue you. They put 
that stone wall there for a purpose. Come on, hitch on 
behind.” 

Flopsy did as she was told without a murmur. She 
held on tightly to Bill, as Milton gave them a violent 
push. The sled streaked down the hill, as though shot 
from a cannon. When it hit a bump, it flew into the 
air and then bounced back again, only to go still faster 
and faster. 

“GANGWAY! GANGWAY!” Bill was shouting at 
the top of his lungs. The boys and girls, who were 
dragging their sleds up the hill, scattered to right and 


136 Almost Fifteen 

left. Then they stood still and watched. How would 
Flopsy fare this time? She had frightened them for a 
minute, and yet the exciting prospect of an ambulance 
skidding down that hill had rather thrilled them. 

The flying sled was almost at the foot of the hill. Bill, 
conscious of his audience, was preparing to make a 
grandstand play! He was going to whiz around that cor¬ 
ner in a way which would make the others gasp and 
cheer. He’d show them! He’d show Flopsy! He pulled 
at the steering gear. It would not move! He tugged and 
tugged. It would not budge. He bent his arms and, 
with a violent back shove, used his elbows to push 
Flopsy off the sled. He must throw her. She couldn’t 
go into that wall again! Then he threw himself. He 
sat up and turned his head to see what had happened. 
The sled was sliding over the ice, its speed lessened, 
now that it was empty. After it, Flopsy came sliding— 
on her face—over the broken bits of ice! 

Bill scrambled to his feet, and was bending over 
Flopsy the next instant, as every boy and girl on that 
hill crowded around them. Milton and Alice pushed 
their way through. 

“What happened?” Milton demanded. 

“I’ll bet she’s really dead, now.” Alice’s face was 
ghastly in the moonlight. She was thoroughly fright¬ 
ened. 

“The steering gear on her sled is broken. It wouldn’t 
move. I had the presence of mind to throw her.” Bill 
had dragged Flopsy to her feet. She knew at once she 
wasn’t dead. Her face hurt too much. She put her 
hands up to it. It stung and smarted. 

“Look! Look!” Alice cried out, “she’s bleeding to 


Flopsy’s Black Eye 137 

death.” Alice took her handkerchief and gently daubed 
Flopsy’s face. 

“Oh—O—O,” Flopsy wailed. “Tell me, have I got 
a face? Or is it frozen, or is it falling apart?” Then 
that word bleeding penetrated into her brain. “Oh, am I 
bleeding?” 

“One side! One side! ” Bill ordered, as he pushed the 
crowd away. “We’ve got to get her home. She must 
have a doctor.” 

Obediently, the crowd parted and let Flopsy get 
through. Alice followed behind the boys as they almost 
carried Flopsy up the hill. 

“Oh, Flopsy!” she moaned. “My heart just stopped 
when I saw you go over. It was terrible.” 

“Am I bleeding?” Flopsy wailed. She touched her 
face again. “Where’s my nose? Isn’t it on my face?” 
She let out a feeble squeak. “I don’t feel it.” 

Milton and Bill stood still and stared at her. 

“Don’t worry! Your nose is there all right, but 
it’s—” Bill hesitated. 

“It’s what?” Flopsy began to cry. 

“Maybe it’s broken. It’s—” 

Flopsy’s knees collapsed under her. “It’s what?” 
she repeated. 

“Oh, subside, Bill!” Milton glared at him. “Don’t 
scare her to death.” He yanked Flopsy to her feet 
again. 

“It’s nothing!” Bill tried to be cheerful. “You’ll 
probably only have a shiner.” 

“A shiner!” Flopsy echoed, and her head fell over 
on one side. “What’s that?” 

“Maybe her neck’s broken!” Alice shrieked wildly. 


138 Almost Fifteen 

“Look at the way her head is now! It’s falling off!” 

“Use your heads! ” Milton snapped. “And don’t come 
in, Alice, when we get to her home. You’ll only get 
excited.” 

“Do you remember the time Milt and I caught you 
when you tumbled down the old hill at the reservoir 
when we were skating? Wasn’t it funny? We are 
always around—” 

Flopsy didn’t pay any attention. They were now on 
her street. She looked eagerly ahead for her house. 

“Oh—O—0—” —she gasped. “Maybe, I have a 
nose, but you can’t fool me. I’ve only got one eye.” 

Milton gave Bill a warning look. The boys did not 
contradict her. She only had cne eye at the moment, 
for any practical purpose! 

The boys rang the Moore’s doorbell. Mrs. Moore 
excused herself from her guests and came to answer 
the bell. Bill and Milton dragged their now sagging 
burden into the hall. Mrs. Moore looked completely 
stunned. 

“We think she’s been hurt,” Bill explained. He 
mustn’t say too much. He couldn’t frighten Mrs. 
Moore out of her wits. 

“You think—” Mrs. Moore gasped. “Oh, my dar¬ 
ling! What has happened? Flopsy, dear. Oh, my 
baby.” She took her daughter into her arms. “Call a 
doctor. Robert! Robert!” she screamed. Her husband 
had been upstairs, and almost fell down them in his 
haste to respond to his wife’s terrified call for help. 

All the guests were offering assistance at once. One 
of them had the sense to telephone a doctor. 

“Oh, good heavens!” Mr. Moore blanched when he 



“We think she’s been hurt’’ Bill explained. 















140 Almost Fifteen 

saw his precious daughter lying limp and battered on 
the davenport. 

“What happened?’’ he bent over his child. “What 
is it?” He turned to the boys, “What happened to 
her?” 

“The steering gear on her sled was broken. I 
couldn’t turn the corner. I knew we’d take the stone 
wall, so I had the presence of mind to push her off. 
I shoved her—” 

Everyone in the room listened to Bill. He had the 
center of the floor. He felt like the hero in a major 
catastrophe. 

“She’s probably only have a black eye,” Milton con¬ 
soled. 

“Her face is in ribbons.” Mr. Moore looked down 
at his woebegone daughter compassionately. He lifted 
her in his arms. “Put your arms around Daddy’s neck, 
sweetheart. I’ll carry you upstairs. Oh, you funny 
little Calamity Jane.” His voice was suspiciously husky. 
“You’ll be all right, all right. And the black eye is 
just going to be the prettiest thing you’ve ever had in 
your life.” He started toward the stairs with his bur¬ 
den in his arms. Then his own nerve cracked. “Get the 
Doctor! Where is he? WHAT’S KEEPING HIM? 
Call another! Call every doctor in town, if necessary. 
BUT GET ONE!” He was roaring as he climbed the 
stairs. “Get every blooming doctor in this town. Line 
them up!” 


Chapter Six 

Surprises for Flopsy 

B ILL was very reluctant to go home. Milton kept 
pulling him by the arm, and jerking his head 
toward the door. The hint was not taken. Bill 
told the story over and over. Each time as he finished 
it, he threw out his chest and boasted, “And I had the 
presence of mind to throw her. I couldn’t let her take 
that stone wall for a second time.” If his ardor for 
this recital was not dampened by the fact that no one 
told him he deserved the Carnegie Medal, he did not 
show it. He was having a rare old time! 

Flopsy had been laid on her bed. Mrs. Moore had 
swept the hostess gown from it, to make room for her, 
without realizing that it was out of its proper place. 

When the doctor arrived, he looked Flopsy over care¬ 
fully. Then, rubbing his hands together, he said with 
a broad grin, “You are going to have one of the most 
beautiful black eyes that it will ever be your pleasure 
to behold, young lady! I trust you are not planning 
on getting married,” he chuckled, “or on going to a 
party with your best beau?” 

Flopsy sat up in bed with a little shriek. “Oh, good¬ 
ness! The Sophomore party! Will it be all right in 
two days? Will my eye be better by then?” 

141 


142 Almost Fifteen 

“Your eye by then, my dear young lady, may be just 
too gorgeous! What are your high school colors?” 

“Blue and geld!” Flopsy answered blankly. Tears 
were filling her one good eye. 

“What, no black? Well, there will be plenty of blue 
and some gold. Your eye will be all decked out in most 
of your high school colors.” 

Flopsy lay back on her bed. Oh dear! Her head 
ached so, she couldn’t think clearly. But it was just 
AWFUL! 

“Those are just surface scratches on her face. For¬ 
tunately, they will heal in a week, I imagine. The ice 
has stung her face, but it hasn’t cut in deeply. She 
must have slid over the roughest places without touch¬ 
ing them. Now, don’t look so sad and forlorn, sister. 
You are a mighty lucky girl. You might have fractured 
your skull on your first attempt to wreck yourself. In¬ 
stead you were only knocked silly, and you must have 
been that or you never would have tried to kill your¬ 
self the second time. And on that second occasion, 
you could have gotten cuts on your pretty little face 
that would have necessitated clips. Then you might 
have had scars. You ought to be thankful that you 
were born under a lucky star. You were lucky, darn 
lucky!” 

“Lucky, lucky, lucky!” That’s all Flopsy could get 
out of this rigamarole. What was he saying lucky for, 
over and over? 

“Lucky!” she wailed. “What was lucky about it? 
I’ve got a black eye. My face is all scratched up and I 
can’t go to the Sophomore party. And I wanted to go!” 
She began to cry. “I’m on the committee.” 


Surprises for Flopsy 143 

“I am not saying you can’t go. Don’t blame me for 
keeping you away. You can go if you like, and dance 
to your heart’s content. There’s nothing the matter 
with your legs. And that red head of yours may make 
the boys overlook a lot. And as you said, you will be 
decorated with the school colors.” 

“Oh—” Flopsy turned her head crossly. Wouldn’t 
she have just loved to tell good old Dr. Graham to 
keep quiet! He was just teasing her for all he was 
worth! He mother and father, too, looked so smilingly 
happy and relieved. She wished she had fractured her 
skull! She’d have enjoyed seeing them all heartbroken! 

The next morning, practically everyone in town tele¬ 
phoned Flopsy’s home. Every time the bell rang, she 
cocked her ear, her heart beating with excitement. She 
just loved to hear her mother repeat the story, over and 
over. She was thrilled when she heard, “I never was as 
frightened in my life as when she was brought into the 
house. And my poor husband was scared right out 
of his wits. He just idolizes that daughter of his, you 
know.” 

Flopsy felt that this compensated for a lot. For one 
thing, it made it easier to bear the sight of the face she 
saw in the mirror. She felt like a heroine in a great 
tragedy. It annoyed her considerably when she was 
just out of earshot and couldn’t hear everything her 
mother was saying on the telephone. Sometimes her 
mother left out some sensational detail, and it was all 
she could do to keep from calling out to her, and 
prompting, “Mother, you forgot to say she was nearly 
knocked unconscious, and that the hood on her ski suit 
probably saved her life.” 


144 Almost Fifteen 

Fleurette was the first of Flopsy’s friends to arrive 
at the house after school that day. She looked awe¬ 
struck. She was deeply impressed. That was one thing 
Flopsy had always liked about Fleurette, she never 
belittled a thrill or a tragedy. She enjoyed having either 
receive its full measure. 

“Oh, it’s just terrible!” Fleurette said, “I feel so 
sorry for you. Your face looks so awful, and it must 
be dreadfully painful. You poor kid! And you can’t 
go to the Sophomore dance. And that’s just mean. We’ll 
miss you. It’s never any real fun when you are not 
around. My mother feels so sorry. She nearly fainted 
when I told her you were almost killed. She had a heart 
palpitation. She sent over a lemon chiffon pie for you. 
I gave it to your mother. Tomorrow, I think the Ham¬ 
iltonian will be out. I’ll get you one. Goodbye, Flopsy 
darling,” and Fleurette leaned over and kissed her 
friend. “Oh, am I glad you’re not dead! Wouldn’t 
that have been awful?” Fleurette’s eyes filled with 
tears. “I suppose I’d have been a pallbearer. And I 
am sure I’d have nearly died myself. I don’t think I 
could have stood it—” her voice broke. 

Flopsy’s one good eye filled up and overflowed with 
tears. The other one was shut tightly. Her voice 
trembled as she spoke. “That’s very sweet of you, 
Fleurette. I appreciate it—” 

Both girls began to cry. It was all very sad and very 
sweet. Flopsy decided that she would remember, all 
her life, how Fleurette’s eyes had filled with tears at 
the thought of being her pallbearer. Fleurette was a 
real and sincere friend. 


Surprises for Flopsy 145 

“Milton Brooks asked me to go to the movies with 
him/’ Flopsy’s voice choked again over this. 

“Oh, that’s so mean!” Fleurette cried. “And I bet 
you can’t go with him. Isn’t that terrible! I’ll bet, too, 
it would have made Alice jealous, because she really 
doesn’t think Frank’s so much!” 

Flopsy was beautifully overcome. She couldn’t speak. 
Fleurette leaned over and kissed her again. And then 
she went, leaving Flopsy more completely satisfied 
than she had been for a long time. 

Four of the former Delta Sigma Deltas came next. 
Rosemary had warned them they simply must make 
Flopsy laugh. One should always be gay and funny 
when calling on a sick person! 

“Now, Alice, don’t sympathize with her too much!” 
she cautioned. Alice did not need this warning. Now 
that she had recovered from her fright of the night 
before, and knew that Flopsy was in no danger, it 
would never have entered her matter-of-fact head to 
waste too much pity. Flopsy was getting plenty of at¬ 
tention and sympathy, and Alice knew her well enough 
to know she would like this display. 

Alice, Rosemary, Helen, and Joan chattered glibly 
and lightly as they sat in the living room, around Flopsy 
who was on the davenport. She was none too pleased. 
They didn’t seem to realize that she had nearly been 
killed! 

“Everyone is talking about you!” Rosemary smiled. 
“You are quite a heroine.” 

“Not everyone!” Alice laughed. “Everyone doesn’t 
know. But some people are wondering why you went 


146 Almost Fifteen 

down the hill the second time on that broken sled. 
They think that was a crazy thing to do.” 

Flopsy was annoyed. She just knew Alice was jealous , 
and didn’t like everyone’s talking about her. 

“I guess you don’t realize, Alice,” Flopsy retorted 
coldly, “that I was practically unconscious when I 
walked up that hill. I didn’t know what I was doing. 
Unconscious on my feet! I guess you never heard of 
that!” 

Alice hadn’t. And she was sure no one else had 
either. 

“Well, maybe,” Alice raised her eyebrows, “but it’s 
a good thing Bill Forbes kept his senses, and had the 
presence of mind to throw you!” 

Flopsy had been reclining. Now, she sat bolt upright. 
She was furious. 

“I’ve heard that skaty-eight times! Bill Forbes had 
the presence of mind to throw me off that sled . Well, 
if that’s the kind of mind he has, I wish he’d lost it, 
instead of keeping it. Why didn’t he tell me to throw 
myself off? I’d have put my arms over my face. He 
threw himself, and I bet he isn’t all scratched up!” 

“That’s a thought,” Rosemary said soothingly, “but 
don’t be too hard on poor Bill. He was really all cut 
up in other ways. And he won’t have a partner for 
your Sophomore party. Everyone knows he was going 
with you, and he can’t ask another girl. She’d know 
she was second fiddle.” 

“Isn’t that just too bad!” Flopsy snorted. But she 
did feel better. She was glad that everyone knew she 
had been invited to the Sophomore party. That was 
something at least! 


Surprises for Flopsy 147 

“And I’m so sorry for Milton Brooks/’ Flopsy purred 
sweetly. She hoped this would annoy Alice. “He asked 
me to go to the movies.” 

Flopsy had her wish. Alice was annoyed, but she felt 
a little ashamed of herself. She shouldn’t have irritated 
Flopsy when she had been hurt. She kept silent. Flopsy 
knew Alice’s silences and never liked them. She wished 
the girls would go right straight home. Not one of 
them was treating her almost fatal accident with the 
proper respect or consideration. Joan and Helen didn’t 
seem to want to talk about it. They wanted to talk 
about what would be in the Hamiltonian about their 
sorority. That was far more important to them, than 
the fact that their sorority sister Flopsy, had nearly 
been killed, and was at this moment lying before their 
eyes all battered and bruised. Flopsy decided to grow 
very quiet. She closed the only eye she could close of 
her own volition. Over the other one, she had no con¬ 
trol. 

“I think Flopsy’s getting tired.” Rosemary stood 
up. “Goodbye, honey-chile, and I do hope you’ll get 
rid of that black eye so it won’t spoil your Christmas 
holidays. And we will bring you a copy of the Hamil¬ 
tonian the minute it’s out.” 

The others stood. And Helen wailed, “Oh, I do hope 
they don’t put in a lot of stuff about our sorority. It 
will make some of those girls we turned down just too 
happy! Won’t they laugh!” 

“Goodbye, Flopsy,” Alice leaned over and kissed 
Flopsy’s forehead. “We will miss you at the party. But 
I’ll do your work on the committee for you.” 

“Goodbye!” Flopsy made her voice sound weak and 


148 Almost Fifteen 

listless. “Come again.” And she wanted to add, “and 
don’t stay so long.” After the girls had gone, she was 
in a very bad humor indeed. She tried to think of 
Fleurette, and not these last callers. They acted as 
though it were nothing to have one eye so swollen one 
couldn’t open it, and a face all scratched from chin to 
forehead. And she had to miss so many nice things. 
She wished the telephone would ring again, and she 
could have the soothing pleasure of hearing her mother 
say, “We nearly lost our child last night.” She started 
to go upstairs to talk with her mother, when she 
saw Milton and Bill coming up the walk. She retreated 
back to the davenport, and stretched out on it. She 
arranged the pillows carefully. Then she lay on the 
black eye. She hoped the pillow would hide it. The 
doorbell rang. It rang twice. Mrs. Moore came hur¬ 
rying down the stairs. 

“How is Flopsy today, Mrs. Moore?” she heard Bill 
ask as the door was opened. “My mother wants to 
know. She sent over this jar of jelly.” 

“Why,” Mrs. Moore looked around, “she’s around 
here somewhere. The girls were just here to see her. 
Poor child, she is quite miserable. Her face is very 
badly scratched and swollen. But we are thankful that 
it was no worse.” 

“We were pretty scared last night,” Milton put in. 

“And am I glad I had the presence of mind to throw 
her. She couldn’t have banged against that stone wall 
with her head twice,” Bill continued. 

Flopsy snorted angrily. She wished she could yell, 
“Raspberries! ” 


Surprises for Flopsy 149 

“Do come in a minute and say, ‘Hello,’ ” Mrs. Moore 
invited. Then she called, “Flopsy!” 

“Here I am.” Flopsy’s voice sounded so weak and 
so far away, that it didn’t even seem possible she was 
on this earth with them. 

Mrs. Moore led the boys in to the davenport. “Here 
is some more company for you, darling, Milton and 
Bill. She’s doing very nicely today. So many people 
have sent things in.” 

“Hello, Flopsy!” Bill looked embarrassed and self- 
conscious. “You are going to get some flowers from the 
Sophomore class. Did they come?” 

Flopsy was pleased at this. Her one visible eye 
smiled amid the pillows, and she shook her head. 

Mrs. Moore left them. The boys pulled their chairs 
close, and Milton recovered his tongue first. 

“Well, little Redhead, we’ve just come from that 
stone wall. We wanted to see if you had damaged it. 
We didn’t want the town to sue you for destroying 
public property.” 

Flopsy laughed. She really didn’t want to laugh. 
She wanted to look sweet and, oh so appealing! 

“I’ll bring you a copy of the Hamiltonian when it 
comes out,” Bill promised. 

Flopsy giggled. She began counting on her fingers. 
“That will make at least ten I’m going to have. And 
if there’s anything in it about—” 

“Oysters!” Bill finished with a grin, “you’ll give 
me a black eye.” 

Flopsy forgot her own black eye for the minute, and 
sat up. The two boys looked at her in stunned amaze- 


ISO Almost Fifteen 

ment, and then they let out one wild hoot of laughter. 
They rocked in their chairs. Tears came to their eyes. 
They held their sides. 

Flopsy was so surprised for a few seconds that she 
couldn’t get her wits to work. What were these big 
idiots laughing at? Then she knew! She gave them 
both one black look out of one blazing brown eye. That 
eye looked furious enough for two perfectly good 
eyes working together in a tempestuous storm. She 
snatched up first one pillow and then another, and 
hurled them at the boys. In a few seconds, all the pil¬ 
lows on the davenport were gone. Flopsy stood up 
and looked around with one raging eye to find some¬ 
thing else to throw. 

Milton, weak from laughter, still had enough strength 
to stand up. He grabbed Flopsy’s hands and held them. 

“Hey there, you little wildcat. Say, Bill, grab that 
vase there, or she’ll use it to crack our heads open.” 

Flopsy kicked him in the shins. She was in a fury. 
How dare they laugh at her black eye? She’d show 
them. Milton still held her hands but had to move to 
avoid her feet. 

“We are sorry! We apologize—don’t we, Bill? Lis¬ 
ten you hot-headed little Redhead, we are SORRY!” 
He released her hands and pinned her arms behind her. 
“Now, give Bill a good kick. He deserves one, too. 
He laughed as hard as I did.” 

“Willingly and gladly,” Flopsy obeyed. She gave 
Bill the hardest kick in the shins that she could. It 
was quite equal in its force to any of those she’d given 
Milton. Bill yelped, and, holding his ankle, he limped 
around on one leg. 


Surprises for Flopsy 151 

Mrs. Moore, upstairs, heard all the laughter and com¬ 
motion, and she smiled. Flopsy was having a good 
time, she thought. It would be good for her. 

Flopsy, at the moment, was exhausted. She threw 
herself down on the davenport, and put her elbows over 
her face. With one big brown eye, she peered out, 
watching Bill as he limped around. She felt satisfied. 
She hoped they were both black and blue. 

She looked so funny that the boys wanted to laugh 
again. But, on second thought, they decided it would 
be unwise. After all, Flopsy had managed to get in a 
few robust kicks. 

“I am sorry. Honest, I am!” Bill said with a con¬ 
trite grin. “But don’t worry, Flopsy, you are even. I 
may need crutches tomorrow,” and Flopsy couldn’t help 
laughing. 

“Now, look at her,” Milton reproached, “now, she’s 
laughing because you’re lame, Bill. How about our 
throwing the pillows back at her?” Milton picked up 
one and tossed it at her. She caught it. Bill followed 
suit. Gently, though, gently! 

“Sorry you can’t go to the party.” Bill looked em¬ 
barrassed. 

“And I am sorry you can’t go to the movies,” Milton 
put in. 

Flopsy was satisfied. She had punished them and 
made them sorry, sorry about everything. 

“We will have a date for the Easter holidays, won’t 
we, Redhead?” Milton asked. The boys were ready 
to go. 

Now, in spite of a swollen eye and scratches from one 
end of her face to another, she felt like the belle of 


152 Almost Fifteen 

any ball. She walked to the door with them. Bill 
looked out the window. There was a florist’s truck in 
front of the house. 

“I bet you are going to get the Sophomore flowers, 
and you might hand us a few. You may be blind, but 
we’re lame,” Bill grinned. 

The two boys left the house limping in an exagger¬ 
ated fashion. Flopsy wanted to stand and watch them, 
but she really couldn’t! She didn’t want the florist’s 
boy to see her. She couldn’t very well kick him in the 
shins if he laughed! 

It was the first bouquet she had ever received be¬ 
cause of illness, and she felt very proud of it. This ac¬ 
cident had had a few compensations. 

The Hamiltonian was not out the next day, and 
Flopsy spent a rather lonely, miserable time. Not so 
many people called, and the girls only telephoned. 
There was such a short time now to the Christmas 
vacation that everyone was busy. She had moments 
of feeling very sorry for herself. She couldn’t read 
very well, for, although she could now open her eye, 
it was still uncomfortably swollen. And she did love 
reading! And always there was that very depressing 
thought that she was going to miss the first party a 
boy had invited her to go to as his partner. 

On the second day after the girls had called, Rose¬ 
mary dashed up the steps of Flopsy’s home at noon. 
Flopsy saw her coming and ran to the door. 

“One of my boy friends brought me up in his car, 
bless his heart. Here, take this Hamiltonian and weep. 
I’ll be seeing you!” She handed Flopsy a copy of the 
school paper and screwed her face up into a sad grimace. 


Surprises for Flopsy 153 

“I can’t stop now, but I got it to you as soon as I could. 
I just met Jerry and he said he’d drive me up. Bye!” 
And she flew down the walk. 

Flopsy’s heart was pounding with excitement. Now 
what? What had those awful boys put in? She felt 
that she must turn first to see her name listed on the 
editorial staff of the Hamiltonian. There it was, right 
under the Editor-in-chief’s name, Flora M. Moore, As¬ 
sociate Editor. She purred over it. It wasn’t often that 
a mere Sophomore B had this distinction. Now she 
must look for her story, but this was no particular 
thrill, for it was her third to appear in print. It was 
called “Detective Dick.” It was a mock mystery story. 
Well, it looked nice anyway. She glanced over the vari¬ 
ous club notes. She was really almost afraid to read 
that “Look Who’s Here!” column. She turned to it 
at last, her heart in her mouth. She stared uncompre- 
hendingly at the first item. She read it three times. 
It had Bill Forbes’ name in it, so she had to know what 
it was all about. 

“Bill Forbes is seeing RED these days! And would 
you believe it, it gives him MOORE fun! But isn’t a 
‘BILL’ always right with the RED?” 

For goodness’ sakes! Why this must mean her! 
Weak as she was in spelling, she realized that “more” 
shouldn’t be spelled with two “o’s.” She began to un¬ 
derstand. She re-read the item carefully. She would 
really have to, as her mother might not get the point 
at once. Let me see, she mused to herself. Oh, yes, a 
“Bill” is something you get for gas and electricity and 
a lot of things. Oh, yes, and being in debt for a bill 
had something to do with “the Red.” She felt quite 


154 Almost Fijteen 

satisfied now. She had felt she must analyze this joke, 
as others might not be so clever. 

She giggled. She wasn’t crazy about Bill. She’d 
known him for ages and ages, but it was a thrill get¬ 
ting her name in the “Look Who’s Here” column with 
a boy’s. All the other girls just loved it! But they 
made believe they were angry when they saw their 
names linked with a boy’s. Well, she’d be like the other 
girls. She’d make believe she was furious! She’d toss 
her head, and say, “That’s just silly! It makes me 
mad!” Now, that she had torn this item to bits, she 
dispensed with it and looked further down in the col¬ 
umn. Rosemary’s name was in with those of several 
boys! Suddenly she didn’t have to make believe she 
was mad. She was without trying! She was raging! 
Her eyes blazed as she read. 

BELIEVE IT OR NOT! 

“There are some girls in Hamilton who take 
great pride in being Unique Freaks. It’s quite true. 

Ask them. Here are their initials—R. B.—H. P.— 

J. B.— 

Flopsy’s eyes ran hotly over the list. The last two 
initials were F. M. and A. H. 

“And these Unique Freaks, have in truth a 
unique diet. They dote on worms and horned 
toads. They speak a strange language. Just go 
up to one of them and say, Transmagnificanduban- 
dalcialto. Watch her smile! And after you come 
out of the hospital, just change your language to 
Greek and say ‘Delta Sigma Delta’.” 

There was one more line. 

“Ask Flopsy how she likes her oysters. Raw? 

Raw?” 


Surprises for Flopsy 155 

Flopsy wailed loudly, “Moth-er!” If she had only 
broken Bill Forbes’ leg the day before! If she had 
only scratched his eyes out. She hated him. It was all 
his fault. And it was his fault she had a black eye. 
Now every boy and girl knew the Delta Sigma Delta 
secrets—every one! Wouldn’t they laugh? Oh, she 
just wished Bill would call on her this afternoon. She’d 
bet he hadn’t written this, though, it was too clever, 
even for Bill. It was Wilton Locke. Wilton Locke! 
That big apple-cheeked chinless nit-wit! 

Mrs. Moore bent silently over her darning, and let 
her daughter storm. At last Flopsy sat quite still. 
There was nothing more she could say at the moment. 
She had only one more shot to fire. 

“Now, I am glad I am not going to that Sophomore 
dance with Bill Forbes. I just hate him.” 

Mrs. Moore looked up. The corners of her mouth 
were moving suspiciously. 

“I thought you’d decided never to give the boys the 
satisfaction of knowing that they had disturbed you. 
I thought you were going to laugh at them.” 

“You don’t think that's funny, do you mother?” 
Flopsy was unbelieving and appalled. “And that crack 
about how I like oysters? Bill says it over and over. 
A joke isn’t funny when it’s said ten million times. 
Especially if it wasn’t funny in the first place.” 

“I am at least satisfied that you are content not to 
go to the Sophomore party, honey. That’s a big load 
off my mind.” Mrs. Moore looked critically at one of 
Dickie’s socks. 

Flopsy stared at her mother. She could find no 
words to express her real feelings. In fact, she didn’t 


156 Almost Fifteen 

even know what her real feelings were. After a silence, 
she sputtered, “I can’t wait for the girls to come home 
from school. I must telephone them! ” 

“Gracious!” Mrs. Moore put down her darning, “Is 
that going to start all over? I must telephone my orders 
at once. The telephone will be in use for hours.” She 
stood up and patted her daughter’s head. “Until then, 
I’d suggest your thinking up some new Greek letters 
and a password. It would keep your mind busy.” Mrs. 
Moore went downstairs. 

And it was well that Mrs. Moore did her ordering 
right then, for after the next hour or so, the telephone 
was busy until dinner. Mrs. Moore went around hold¬ 
ing her head. She had heard the whole Greek alphabet 
juggled about, until she thought she’d go mad! At last, 
a happy solution occurred to her. She tapped Flopsy 
on the head, and put her finger over her lips as though 
cautioning her. 

“Flopsy!” she warned, “if you want those letters to 
be a secret , be careful. A telephone is not the most pri¬ 
vate thing in the world by any means! Have a meeting 
about all this.” 

Flopsy nodded. That was a good idea. Someone 
might be listening. She had never thought of that. 
They’d better have a meeting. 

But she’d have to telephone each girl and tell her not 
to use the telephone again. Mrs. Moore went out into 
the kitchen muttering to herself, “You can’t win!” 

The Sophomore party was the following night. Al¬ 
though Flopsy had announced that she didn’t want to 
go anywhere with Bill Forbes, she looked very forlorn 
at being allowed to stay home. Her eye was now at 


Surprises for Flopsy 157 

the rainbow stage. It was red, orange, yellow, green, 
blue and violet. She looked at herself in the mirror, 
utterly disgusted. The rainbow looked lovely in a sum¬ 
mer sky, but did not look lovely on her face! Flopsy’s 
eyes filled with tears. She didn’t want to go out with 
Bill Forbes, but she hated to think that Alice Holt 
was strutting around as chairman of the reception com¬ 
mittee. That’s what was making her furious right now. 
She decided she’d curl up in the chair in her room and 
amuse herself with her thoughts. She had now planned 
that Milton Brooks should be her secret “crush” in¬ 
stead of Wilton Locke. He had a lot more sense than 
Bill Forbes. And—and—well, she could think of a lot 
of things in his favor. His hair lay down in beautiful 
waves, and it was jet black! Bill’s was a light, funny¬ 
looking shade of brown, and it stuck straight out. Be¬ 
sides, Milton went off to a “prep” school. That was in¬ 
teresting! And he certainly had a chin. She hoped he’d 
be invited to Janet Dudley’s party in the spring. Janet 
wouldn’t mind, now, if Milton liked her, because Janet 
had so many beaux. 

Flopsy debated about getting her mother’s hostess 
gown, and primping before the mirror. She’d use her 
imagination to see herself in a lovely new, long evening 
dress. But it would be a test, and something of a strain 
on this imagination, to expect it to remove that many 
colored black eye from her face. But there was no limit 
to her imagination. Flopsy, undaunted, went to her 
mother’s closet. She was just about to take the hostess 
gown from its hook when the telephone rang. She 
stood still and listened, as her mother answered it. 

“Flop-sy!” Mrs. Moore called, “Flop-sy!” 


158 Almost Fifteen 

Flopsy dashed down the stairs. Maybe it was Alice 
asking advice on how to be chairman of the Reception 
Committee. Flopsy picked up the telephone. She turned 
to her mother and asked, “Who is it?” Mrs. Moore 
shook her head. She had no idea. She shaped the word, 
“girl,” with her lips. 

“Hello 1” Flopsy began, and then she let out a whoop 
that made the house ring with its joy. “BABBIE! Oh, 
where are you, Babbie? Are you in Rawhide? Oh, am 
I glad!” She turned her head and shouted, “Mother, 
Daddy, everybody, Babbie’s here. Right here. She’s at 
Molly’s—at Miss Hilton’s!” She turned back to the 
telephone again. “Oh, Babbie, I’m so excited. Come 
on over. Stay all night. You know—I—” she broke 
off. Babbie was talking. “Yes, I was nearly killed. 
My father and mother were scared stiff. Miss Hilton 
sent me some lovely flowers today! Come over, please 
—please!” Flopsy hung up. She was still excited. 

“Mother, Daddy, did you hear who that was?” 

“We did, indeed!” Mr. Moore looked up over his 
paper. “It came to me faintly, but I managed to 
catch it.” 

“Oh, mother, it’s Babbie! And she’s coming right 
over. David’s chauffeur is going to drive her. And 
she is going to stay all night. Isn’t it wonderful? She 
came home for Christmas and she’s going to stay. And 
I don’t care now, about my black eye, and I don’t care 
about that old Sophomore party,” and Flopsy burst into 
tears. 

Mrs. Moore gave her husband a warning look. He 
mustn’t tease her. Not now. Her own eyes were misty. 
She had felt so sorry for her child. It had been a pity 


Surprises for Flopsy 159 

that she had had to miss her first real party because 
of a wretched looking and painful black eye. She pat¬ 
ted her daughter’s head. 

“That’s all right, honey. I understand. Just a little 
reaction. I am very glad for you.” 

Mrs. Moore understood perfectly. But Mr. Moore 
had to take his wife’s word for it, that it was all right. 
It was hard to understand just why Flopsy had to cry 
because she was so happy! 


Chapter Seven 

Christmas Presents 

B ABBIE would have tumbled into Flopsy’s arms, 
if her own were not busy holding a five pound 
box of candy! 

Never, never, Flopsy’s heart was singing, was she 
so glad to see anyone in her life as she was to see Bab¬ 
bie at this minute. 

“My, Babbie, what a young lady you are getting 
to be!” Mrs. Moore took Babbie’s face in her hands, 
and kissed her. 

“I am almost fifteen! My birthday’s in March!” 
Babbie boasted. 

“And mine’s in April,” Flopsy echoed. “Just im¬ 
agine!” 

“Here, here! You’ve forgotten me!” Mr. Moore 
came toward Babbie with his arms outstretched. He 
caught Babbie and hugged her as though she had been 
Flopsy. Then he let her go and looked down into her 
glowing face. 

“Growing into a young lady, eh? And a very lovely 
one. ‘Her eyes were brown, a deep, deep brown, and 
something in her smile and frown’— No, no, that quota¬ 
tion won’t do at all. I never saw a frown on that gentle 
face.” 

“Oh, I’m not so gentle! I can frown!” Babbie pro- 

160 


Christmas Presents 161 

tested very earnestly. “Really, I can, Mr. Moore. I 
don’t want to be just a sweet little girl. I want to be 
like Flopsy.” Babbie gave Flopsy a warm, admiring 
look. 

The others laughed. Her earnestness was so sincere. 

“Right at this minute, you want to look like me, 
black eye and all?” Flopsy giggled. 

“And you don’t think our redhead is just a sweet 
little girl?” Mr. Moore put his hand on his daughter’s 
bright head. 

“Oh, no!” Babbie shook her head, her expression 
very serious. “She’s too much fun to be just sweet.” 

“Won’t you miss the ranch? Do you remember when 
you first came East?” Mrs. Moore asked smiling. 
“You felt hemmed in here.” 

“Not half as much as later I missed the girls at 
Hamilton—and Flopsy. It was so lonely out there. 
We only had five pupils in our Latin class! The big¬ 
gest class we had was twelve. Oh, no. I wanted to get 
back here. The whole high school had only forty-five 
pupils!” 

“Did you ride any more bucking horses?” Flopsy 
asked eagerly. She was thrilled that Babbie liked Ham¬ 
ilton better than the high school in Rawhide. 

“Oh, yes,” Babbie’s eyes danced. “I reckon that’s 
why mother was so glad to get me away from the ranch. 
It was only a few weeks ago. I took my dear little 
peaceful Rusty out for a ride. And he bucked steadily 
for fifteen minutes. I stayed on for about seven, and 
was ‘sitting pretty’ when the sudden stop came. I 
landed on my right shoulder. It was as swollen and as 
big as a house!” Babbie rushed on, ignoring the ex- 


162 Almost Fifteen 

clamations of horror. “And when I woke up from my 
little nap, he was still trying to kick the sun, and he’d 
succeeded in stampeding most of the cattle.” 

“Good grief! ” Mrs. Moore cried. “After all you went 
through with that first accident, I should think your 
mother and sister would have been frightened to death. 
No wonder they wanted you East. It’s amazing to me 
that they ever allowed you on a horse again!” 

“Suppose you had been lamed again!” Flopsy was 
horror stricken. “Remember that long, long time you 
couldn’t walk? However did you have the nerve to 
try it a second time?” 

Mr. Moore looked up over the top of his glasses in an 
owlish fashion. “Urn! Um! I know a young lady in 
the East quite well, one who is, in fact, related to me 
by marriage, who took a second chance at killing her¬ 
self. She didn’t even allow a lapse of a few years be¬ 
tween her attempts. The very next minute, after she 
had tried to knock over a stone wall with her head, 
and had found she couldn’t in one attempt, she tried it 
again. If you don’t succeed the first time, try again, 
was her motto.” 

They all laughed, and Flopsy ducked her head. 

“Oh, I wasn’t hurt very much!” Babbie went on. “I 
rode eight hours the very next day to Paint Rock. And 
the next day I rode to Gold Pen. I never, never want 
to be afraid of a horse. I reckon I’ll want to ride until 
I’m an old, old lady. Mother and Molly were away 
those days on business. So they weren’t worried, you 
see,” Babbie added ingenuously. “And David’s prom¬ 
ised to give me a horse. Don’t you think that’s won¬ 
derful of him?” 


Christmas Presents 163 

“That’s a thought!” Mr. Moore took a notebook 
out of his pocket. “I’ll put that down immediately. 
You’ve given me an idea for Flopsy’s Christmas. I 
might gi ye her a stone wall. She seems to have the 
same passion for it that you have for a horse. She 
probably will want to meet up with one from time to 
time.” 

“Mother, we are going up to my room. We have 
oodles and oodles to talk about.” Flopsy gave her 
father a look of good-natured tolerance. He must have 
his little joke. She had ignored the hoot of laughter 
which followed his silly remark! 

Babbie and Flopsy dashed up the stairs, Flopsy 
with the box of candy under her arm. Tell me! Tell 
me this! Tell me that! Each scarcely let the other 
finish any story, for it promptly suggested another line 
of thought. Babbie was immensely proud of a bit of 
mischief she had been up to, with the aid of a girl 
named “Pussy.” Babbie had lain so still for several 
years after a fall from a horse, that it filled her with 
the keenest delight to feel that she was now actually 
living! 

“Some girls down in Louisiana wrote to Rawhide 
High School and said they wanted to correspond with 
some cowboys. Well, Miss Wells, the principal, who 
also teaches half a dozen things, showed the letters to 
Pussy and me. She thought they were funny. The 
boys wouldn’t be bothered, and she was going to throw 
them away so we begged her for them. Pussy and I 
made believe we were cowboys, and wrote the girls 
letters. It was more fun! We made them send us 
snapshots of themselves! One girl had long pigtails, 


164 Almost Fifteen 

and I wrote and said I hated pigtails. My name was 
Buck Watson. Well, you know that girl cut her pig¬ 
tails off, and then sent us another snapshot of herself. 
Oh, Flopsy, it was awful! I got nervous. I reckon I 
shouldn’t have told her I didn’t like pigtails.” 

“Why!” Flopsy was fascinated. 

“Because,” Babbie took a long breath, “she cut her 
hair off and got the most terrible, awful, dreadful per¬ 
manent wave I reckon there could be in this whole wide 
world. It was so frizzy and kinky that it stood out like 
a Fiji Islander girl’s. I had an awful nightmare that 
night. I dreamed she was a cannibal, and that she 
wrote me she wanted me in a stew.” Babbie fell back 
on the bed and rolled over laughing. “I was in a stew 
all right.” 

“Then what did you do?” Flopsy giggled. 

“I sent her a picture I found around the ranch of a 
rodeo we had a few years ago. I marked one of the 
buckaroos taking a header with a big X. Under it I 
wrote ‘That’s me.’ I told her it was taken just be¬ 
fore I told her I hated pigtails. My skull was fractured 
and I was out of my head when I wrote telling her to 
cut them off, but wouldn’t she please let her hair grow 
again? I just loved pigtails when I was in my right 
mind.” 

Flopsy stared at Babbie in admiration and amaze¬ 
ment. Then both girls went off into fits of laughter. 

“Oh, I am glad you are back here, Babbie.” Flopsy 
wiped her eyes. “Let’s have some candy. You just 
plain everyday saved my life. I was just desperate 
tonight. I was missing that old Sophomore party. Not 
because of Bill Forbes, let me tell you,” she hastened 


Christmas Presents 165 

to add, “but—well—” she hesitated— “Well I was 
on the committee and I ought to be there. Besides—” 

Babbie nodded. “I know. It would be fun. I’d like 
to go myself. I can’t dance very well. I just danced 
with our housekeeper’s son. He’s one of the cowboys. 
We used to dance to a radio orchestra, but I don’t think 
even he was very good.” 

Then Flopsy thought of Janet’s party in the spring. 
“We can go to that at least!” The girls were digging 
into the box of candy. 

“Here’s a jelly one, and I hate them, Flopsy.” Bab¬ 
bie handed over a candy. “Don’t bother to thank me.” 

“I won’t!” Flopsy giggled. “I often wanted to see 
the person that they make jelly-filled candies for. 
What do you suppose he looks like? Let’s imagine. 
Keep quiet for a few minutes and concentrate. You 
imagine a person who looks like jelly-filled chocolate 
and I will.” Flopsy shut her eyes and looked as if she 
were going off into a trance. Babbie did likewise. 
Finally Flopsy squealed, “I can’t do it. It frightens me. 
The weirdest looking people keep coming to my mind.” 

Both girls rolled over on the bed, in nonsensical 
hysterics. 

It wasn’t until the cold gray dawn of the next day 
that they ceased talking, and Flopsy proved to have 
the most endurance. She was just asking Babbie about 
the Sophomore reading list out in Rawhide High School, 
when her eyes closed. It was not a thrilling question. 
She was just making talk. Every last other subject they 
could think of had been discussed. But Babbie didn’t 
hear this question. She was sound asleep. When Flopsy 
opened her eyes in the morning, her first thought was a 



166 Almost Fifteen 

happy one. Babbie was here again, and the Sophomore 
party was all over! 

There were only three days now until Christmas. 
School closed that afternoon, not to re-open until after 
New Year’s. All problems, but one, ceased to be. 
Flopsy did not have to bother her head about the 
Delta Sigma Deltas, homework, the Hamiltonian, 
her treasurer’s report, or required reading, until next 
year! The one all important problem right now was 
Christmas presents. And Flopsy always waited until 
the very last minute. It never seemed Christmas un¬ 
less she were rushing around trying to do everything at 
once. That’s what the Christmas spirit was, Flopsy 
thought, accomplishing the impossible and being happy 
about it. She thought of Alice Holt. Alice and her sis¬ 
ter Mildred began to buy Christmas presents in the 
summer. By Thanksgiving their presents were not only 
all purchased, but they were all wrapped. Flopsy 
looked down upon this procedure with scorn. How 
could one have the feeling of Christmas on an August 
day? How could one’s heart tingle with excitement, 
doing up a Christmas present before Thanksgiving? 
It was all too sensible. Christmas was a thing of the 
spirit, bright, beautiful and mysterious. 

“Why must you wait until the last few days, Flopsy? 
Do think of the weary shopgirls,” Mrs. Moore had 
pleaded. 

“I am. That’s what I am! Everybody buys pres¬ 
ents early now. The stores won’t be crowded. You 
wait and see.” 

“No, you wait and see! ” Mrs. Moore retorted. “That 
pleasure is all yours. I’ve bought my presents.” 

“How could I have bought my presents before 


Christmas Presents 167 

this?” Flopsy protested. “I had a black eye. I’d have 
scared people to death. And it looks funny enough 
right now.” 

“You’ve only had that black eye for a few days. 
You didn’t have one last year, and you did the same 
thing then. Even Dickie and Frankie went to Wool- 
worth’s and did all their shopping two weeks ago.” 
Mrs. Moore sighed. She saw that she was making no 
impression on her daughter. 

Flopsy was counting her money. She looked at it in 
two kinds of alarm. It was too much, and it was too 
little. It was more than she had expected to have saved, 
but it was too little to buy everything she wanted. 
She had a tussle with her conscience. She walked over 
to her bank. She closed her eyes so that she would 
not see the painful process. She dropped fifty cents 
into it. Wouldn’t it be awful to buy Christmas pres¬ 
ents with Sophomore dues? Her conscience was now 
clear. Her conscience was clear, but her mind wasn’t. 
It was as confused as though she were in a thick Lon¬ 
don pea-soup fog. How could she buy all her presents 
with the money she had? She sat down at her desk and 
made a list. 

1. Mother— 

2. Daddy— 

3. Frankie— 

4. Dickie— 

5. Alice— 

6. Miss Hilton’s baby— 

7. Babbie— 

8. Mrs. Titmouse— 

9. And Fleurette if she gives me one— 






168 Almost Fifteen 

Flopsy sighed. She was really lucky in a way. Sup¬ 
pose she were Alice? Alice had uncles and aunts and 
cousins—galore! Flopsy had exactly six dollars and 
eighty-three cents. She tried dividing this total by 
nine. How many times did nine go into sixty-eight? 
She sat chewing her pencil and staring into space. She 
wished that she knew her multiplication table. It 
would certainly simplify things. She went to the head 
of the stairs. 

“Moth-er! Moth-er!” she yodeled. “Moth-er— 
Moth-er!” She went up and down the scale. 

“What in the world do you want?” Mrs. Moore cried 
in alarm. “What has happened?” 

“How many times does nine go into sixty-eight?” 
Flopsy hung over the upstairs balustrade. 

“Good gracious! Did you call me out of the kitchen 
for that? I am up to my eyes!” Mrs. Moore’s voice 
had a note of exasperation in it. 

“It’s important!” Flopsy called blithely. “It’s pos- 
i-tive-ly vital” 

“Seven and something. Please don’t bother me again! 
And I wish you’d paid more attention to arithmetic 
when you were in school,” Mrs. Moore’s voice trailed 
off. She was back in the kitchen. 

“Seven and something! Seven and something!” 
Flopsy sing-songed as she sat down to her desk again. 
She brought her brows together in a frown. Seven and 
something. That hadn’t helped. What was nine times 
seven, anyway?” 

“Oh, Jinks!” She stood up. “I guess I better not ask 
mother again. And anyway, there must be about sev¬ 
enty some cents for each one, if I gave them all equal 




“Moth-er! How many times does nine go into six dol¬ 
lars and eighty-five cents?” 









170 Almost Fifteen 

presents. And I am not going to do that. Suppose I 
gave mother and daddy a dollar present, and I gave 
Miss Hilton’s baby a dollar present? Let me see, how 
much would I have for everybody else? Three dol¬ 
lars from six dollars and eighty-three cents is four 
dollars and eighty-three cents. Now, I’ll divide that 
by—let me see—divide it by— what! Oh, nuts!” She 
ran to her closet and took out her coat and hat. She 
walked over to her desk again, and looked down long¬ 
ingly at her bank. At the moment, she regretted put¬ 
ting that fifty cents into it. She would have preferred 
a foggy conscience and a clear mind. But it was too 
late! Oh, well! What did it really matter? She was 
always in a mixup at Christmas. 

Flopsy walked downstairs saying to herself over and 
over, “Three from nine is six. Six goes into four dollars 
and eighty-three cents—that’s easy—it’s—let me see— 
it’s—well six goes into forty-eight—eight times. That 
means the other presents can be over eighty cents.” 
She stopped at the foot of the stairs, groaned out loud, 
and put her hands to her head. How could she have 
more money for the six presents which were left, and 
more money for the first three? She had better not do 
this figuring in her head. She was poor at any kind of 
arithmetic, but she was simply terrible at the mental 
kind. She walked slowly into the kitchen. Her mother 
was at the kitchen table writing. 

“Mother!” She looked very sweet and appealing, 
not only in spite of her many-colored eye, but because 
of it. She was sure no mother’s heart could help being 
touched by her appearance and manner. 

“Now what?” Mrs. Moore looked up. “I am making 




Christmas Presents 171 

out my grocery list.” She began checking it over, aloud. 
“Sage, cranberry sauce, raisins, nuts!” 

“That’s what I say— nuts!” Flopsy broke in, dim¬ 
pling, “I say it to everything.” 

“You certainly do, and I wish you wouldn’t!” Mrs. 
Moore put down her pencil and looked up at her 
daughter suspiciously. “What mischief are you up to 
now, I’d like to know? No, I don’t want to know, but 
it might be better if I did.” Her manner was the epitome 
of patience. 

“Take three dollars from six dollars and eighty- 
three cents, and what do you get, mummy dear?” 
Flopsy’s eyes danced, as they pleaded. 

“Flopsy Moore!” Mrs. Moore shook her head. “I 
am not getting anything, I’ve got it! And it’s a head¬ 
ache. You are impossible. However, answering that 
question, I’d say three dollars and eighty-three cents. 
Whatever else could it be, I’d like to know? You dis¬ 
courage me completely. I was going to ask you to buy 
me some Christmas wrappings, string, and tags. And 
I also had a fantastic hope that you could go around 
to Hardman’s and look over their wreaths and Christ¬ 
mas trees. I wanted you to see if they are good and 
what they are charging.” 

“Maybe we could get some mistletoe this year?” 
Flopsy skipped over most of her mother’s comments. 
“It’s a lot of fun, they say. Would you like me to find 
out how much it is?” 

Mrs. Moore waved this aside. “Don’t bother. 1 will 
attend to all of these things. Now, will you do me a 
favor and run along.” Her eyes narrowed. She was 
thinking intently. What else should she put on her 



172 Almost Fifteen 

list? “Oh, yes, a loaf of a day old bread. We never 
have stale bread in this house. I’ll need it for the 
turkey dressing. Oh, yes, and—” 

“How does my eye look? See, I’ve pulled this hat 
almost over it. Do I look cockeyed?” 

“Flopsy” Mrs. Moore groaned, “please run along, 
honey. Your eye is much better. But if I don’t go on 
with my ordering—I’ll go—” 

“No, I’ll go.” Flopsy promised agreeably, before her 
mother finished her sentence. She scampered for the 
front door and banged it as she went out. 

Mrs. Moore hurried after her and opened the door 
calling, “Flopsy! Come right back here and put on 
your rain boots. The streets are running water after 
the thaw.” 

Flopsy came bouncing back into the house. She was 
in effervescent spirits. “Isn’t it weird? We just got 
snow so I could get my face lit up with bright colors 
for Christmas? And nobody else is going to have it to 
decorate the landscape. You really ought to have snow 
at Christmas time, oughtn’t you, mother?” Her head 
was bent as she pulled on her boots. She looked up 
for an answer to this question, but her mother had gone 
back into the kitchen. 

“Oh, well,” she smiled, “I guess she agrees with me,” 
and Flopsy opened the door, murmuring to herself hap¬ 
pily as she went. “Three dollars and eighty-three cents 
for six presents. That’s not bad. Not bad at all! I’ll 
bet Alice never paid one-sixth of three dollars and 
eighty-three cents for my present. And now if Fleurette 
would only not give me one.” 

Flopsy walked along feeling supremely happy. She 


Christmas Presents 173 

was always happy buying Christmas presents, no 
matter what they cost! She loved coming home with 
her arms and pockets filled with them. She wouldn’t 
have them sent for anything. She wanted to lay them 
all out on her bed the very minute she got home, and 
just enjoy them. In the store, they only had been a 
collection of things that some one had wanted to sell. 
But spread over her bed, they were, as if by magic, 
transformed into Christmas presents! 

A few hours after she had left the house, Flopsy 
returned, just as she had wished to return, laden down. 
Her cheeks were so flushed with excitement, her eyes 
so bright, that one would never have paid much heed 
to those rainbow colors around one of two sparkling 
eyes! She had bought presents for everybody except 
her mother and Fleurette. She had exactly sixty-two 
cents left in her purse. It was very silly, very silly 
indeed making up accounts before one went Christmas 
shopping. Knowledge of the multiplication table, or 
the ability to add or subtract, had nothing whatever 
to do with the matter. Christmas shopping had no 
relationship with arithmetic. No matter how clever you 
were, if you obeyed your happiest impulses, you never 
came out even. 

She could wait, and hope for the best about Fleurette. 
If Fleurette showed any of those signs of having a 
Christmas present for her—well! If Fleurette tele¬ 
phoned and said, “I’ll see you Christmas morning,” 
she’d know. In a way, she wanted to give Fleurette a 
present, more than she did Alice, but Alice had given 
her one for years and years. Her heart warmed, though, 
when she recalled how sweet Fleurette had been about 



174 Almost Fifteen 

her accident. She had promised herself never to forget 
how tragic Fleurette had looked when those tears came 
to her eyes, at the thought of being Flopsy’s pallbearer. 
She couldn’t very well forget her sacred promise in a 
few days, and, of all times, at Christmas! Alice had 
treated her black eye far too lightly. She had not been 
depressed by the thought that Flopsy had very nearly 
been killed. 

If she had to divide that sixty-eight cents for two 
presents, she knew her mother would understand. She 
always had in the past. She always had said with a 
warm smile, “Don’t worry about me, darling. Just 
give me a little extra love.” And this little extra love 
would not be difficult to give. Flopsy’s heart would be 
full to overflowing with it, because of her mother’s 
generous understanding. If Fleurette did give her a 
present this year, she could give her mother a beautiful 
flower vase that she had seen in Woolworth’s for a 
quarter. And with it, all the love in her heart. She 
would then have forty-eight cents for Fleurette’s pres¬ 
ent. And she guessed she’d find an extra two cents 
somewhere, somehow. She was treading on air. It 
would all come out beautifully. 

After lunch, Mrs. Moore called Flopsy. “Now, I am 
going to leave you to guard the fort for a few hours. I 
must go around to the stores. I want to see my turkey, 
see my Christmas tree and see the holly wreaths.” 

“And some mistletoe!” Flopsy put in happily. 

“All right, some mistletoe!” Mrs. Moore was amused. 
“But when I was a girl, the boys could kiss a girl if 
they caught her under it. And from your present atti¬ 
tude—” 


Christmas Presents 175 

“It’s still the same. Boys sometimes kiss girls. But 
not me,” Flopsy colored, as she added this hastily. She 
had told her mother about how “fresh” Bill Forbes 
had been about her black eye. “But you have to be 
polite to your guests. If they like it—” 

“Oh, yes, indeed!” Mrs. Moore was teasing. “Listen 
to me. I am not joking now. I’ve ordered a pair of 
ice skates for Frankie, and a sled for Dickie. They may 
be delivered while I am out. Try to get to the door 
first and hide them. Some one has been rummaging in 
my closet already so don’t put them there. And if you 
want to amuse yourself meanwhile, and still be useful, 
you might test the lights for the Christmas tree.” 

“O.K! O.K!” Flopsy was tap dancing on the bare 
floor in the hall. “Don’t worry. I’ll guard the skates 
and the sled with my very life!” 

“I sincerely hope that that won’t be at all necessary. 
You have given us all the excitement we need for some 
time to come. The lights for the Christmas tree are in 
my room in a big box.” This last Mrs. Moore called 
back over her shoulder. She knew Flopsy was not 
heeding, as she was dancing for dear life. She was now 
trying to tap dance up and down the stairs. Mrs. 
Moore closed the door behind her and hoped for the 
best. 

Flopsy did have some hazy notion of testing the 
lights for the Christmas tree. She always enjoyed it 
up to a certain point. That certain point had to arrive 
quickly, or she grew very tired and exasperated. But 
now she did not go upstairs. First the front doorbell 
rang, and then the back one. She danced from one to 
the other. The extra boys, who helped the postman 


176 Almost Fifteen 

during the holidays, kept dropping Christmas cards into 
the mail box every few minutes. These had to be 
opened and read. 

“Oh, Jinks1” Flopsy was at the telephone and gave 
a number. She must call Babbie. “Oh, Babbie!” she 
squealed, “What do you think? Can you imagine who 
I got cards from? You’ll never, never guess. Marcella 
Todd, from camp. Can you imagine! It’s all engraved. 
Marcella Todd Townsend. And one from Tommy and 
Mandy. I forgot all about Christmas cards so far. I’ll 
have to buy some this afternoon.” Flopsy thought of 
the forty-eight cents, but perhaps her mother would 
have some extra ones. She could hope at least! “Oh, 
Babbie, the front door. I must hang up. Bye!” 

When Flopsy opened the front door, a boy stood there 
dangling a pair of skates in one hand, and a small sled in 
the other. These were supposed to be wrapped, but 
the sled had only a piece of paper tied around its middle, 
and the skates were practically naked. Flopsy took 
them, and just as she did, she heard Frankie’s voice. 
He must have come in by the back door. 

“Flop-sy! Flop-sy! Where are you?” 

“Oh, goodness!” Flopsy’s stomach turned over and 
over. “Oh, goodness! Where are you?” 

“I am coming!” He reassured her eagerly. Flopsy 
could hear him coming toward her. She looked around 
frantically. She wondered wildly if she could get to 
the stairs before he reached her. She made a mad dash 
for them, not bothering to shut the front door. 

“WHERE are you?” Frankie howled. “This is im¬ 
portant.” 

“I’ll say it is!” Flopsy groaned, stumbling up the 


\ 


Christmas Presents 177 

stairs. She was now hidden from Frankie’s sight by a 
curve in the staircase. 

“Say! I’m not upstairs!” Frankie called. “I’m down 
here. But I’ll come right up,” he promised her, and 
started up after her. 

“Don’t bother!” Flopsy panted breathlessly. “I’ll 
be down in just a minute.” 

“But I’ve got to see you right straight now ” Frankie 
insisted, pounding up the stairs. 

“Oh, Pete!” Flopsy fell almost headlong into the 
first open door she reached. It was the bathroom. Once 
inside, with the door locked, she drew a long sigh of 
relief, and said a few hurried prayers of thankfulness 
for her miraculous escape. As events transpired, she 
had ample time to breathe and pray to her heart’s con¬ 
tent. 

“I’ll wait out here, Flopsy, till you come out. My 
hands are awful dirty. I’ll sit on the railing and wait. 
Anyway, I just wanted to show you a present I just 
bought for mother.” 

“Frankie, you’d better not wait. Go downstairs and 
wash your hands in the kitchen,” she pleaded despair¬ 
ingly. “I’m fixing my hair and may not be out for a 
while.” 

“Oh, that’s all right. I’ll wait. Dickie will be in soon 
and I want to get first shot at the bathroom. I just saw 
mother and she said I was filthy, and to make a good 
job of getting clean before she saw me again. I want 
to know if you think she’ll like what I bought her. Gee! 
Wasn’t I lucky. It was small and fitted in my pocket!” 

Frankie’s words from the other side of the door 
brought Flopsy no comfort, for a pair of skates and 


178 Almost Fifteen 

even a very small sled, would not fit gracefully within 
the medicine chest nor under the rug on the floor. 
Frantically, she tried both. The result was painful. 
She could put the skates in one of the drawers with her 
mother’s towels and linen, but the sled wouldn’t fit 
anywhere! 

“Frankie,” she said firmly, “you know mother will 
love your present. She always loves our presents. But 
go downstairs. Don’t wait for me.” A brilliant idea 
came to her, “I’m going to take a bath. I may be here 
for an hour, and then mother will come home and see 
your face all dirty.” 

“Just tell me this! Does mother like rubies, emeralds 
or diamonds better? Just tell me that,” Frankie pleaded. 

“She loves them all,” Flopsy sighed. “She’s crazy 
about them. Now—will—you—go?” 

“Just wait a minute—I want to look—” and there 
was a pause. Flopsy was sitting on the edge of the bath¬ 
tub, a picture of bleak and dreary despair. “Oh Flops, 
what do you think?” 

“Oh dear,” she wailed. “I can’t! But what is it?” 

Frankie sputtered with excitement. His voice broke 
with happiness. “Am I lucky!” 

“You sure are!” Flopsy thought in a sudden rage, 
“if I could get my hands on you.” Her expression was 
black and threatening. She could always be bored with 
anything sooner than most people, and she’d had enough 
of this! 

“Don’t you want to know why I am lucky?” Frankie 
asked. 

“I don’t have to,” Flopsy frowned darkly, “I know!” 

“Oh, you couldn’t guess. It’s because mother’s pres- 


Christmas Presents 179 

ent has diamonds, rubies and emeralds in it. What are 
the blue stones called?” 

“Franklin Emmett Moore!” Flopsy shouted. “Stop 
talking to me, how can I take a bath—” 

“That’s what I was wondering, too, without any 
water. Dickie and me have to turn on the faucet. I 
haven’t heard the water yet.” 

“Darn it.” Flopsy raged, as she turned on all the 
faucets in the bathtub and in the basin. This created 
such a roar that she couldn’t hear if Frankie were still 
camping outside. She put her mouth to the keyhole and 
bellowed, “Listen, Frankie. Go downstairs and wash. 
Mother will be in at any minute. Please! Please!” 

This last plea was through her teeth. She was shaking 
a fist at her young brother on the other side of the door. 

Above the roar of the water, Flopsy heard the most 
horrible din. Her heart stood still, and she scrambled 
from one faucet to the other, turning them off. She 
then stood perfectly still. Whatever in the world? It 
was downstairs. Her brothers were roaring and a dog 
was barking. The commotion was hair-raising! She 
opened the door. Frankie had gone. She picked up the 
sled and the skates and rushed into her room, opened 
her closet and tumbled them into it. Then she flew 
downstairs. Their neighbor’s dog, Skippy, was making 
all the noise, Flopsy discovered as she stood still on 
the bottom step. Relieved that nothing was wrong, she 
sat down on the last step to watch the fun. Skippy 
was in the middle of the living room, barking furiously 
at a strange cat which was on top of the radio cabinet. 

Mrs. Moore walked in through the front door, which 
was still standing open as Flopsy had left it. 


180 Almost Fifteen 

“For mercy’s sake,” she cried out in horror. 

“Oh, moth-er. Moth-er. Some one left the front door 
open, and Skippy chased the cat in here,” Frankie was 
bouncing up and down with excitement. “Dickie and 
me nearly busted our sides laughing.” 

“Well, I’m not laughing.” Mrs Moore answered 
shortly. “And, Flopsy, why are you just sitting there 
doing nothing? Boys, get Skippy out of here at once.” 

As the boys coaxed Skippy out of the house, for he 
had to go before they could touch the cat, Flopsy whis¬ 
pered in her mother’s ear. 

“You’d never say I’d been doing nothing if you knew 
what had happened! Just wait till you hear, just wait! ” 

Flopsy followed her mother into the kitchen. As the 
boys took the cat outside, they could hear their mother 
and sister laughing together, and wondered what could 
be so funny now? They hadn’t laughed when the real 
show was on! 

It ought to be snowing on the day before Christmas! 
But, unfortunately, this Christmas Eve was just an 
ordinary, dreary, gray, December day. If there was 
any difference between this day, and all the days which 
preceded it, it had nothing to do with the calendar, 
thermometer, or barometer! There was no denying 
that it was different, but that was because of people, and 
not atmospheric conditions. 

Up and down the street holly wreaths were appearing 
in windows, and on white Colonial doors. On many 
lawns colored lights were being strung and tested on 
spruce and fir trees. Indoors, many a bed was covered 
with gaily wrapped packages, the bedrooms were strewn 


Christmas Presents 181 

with snips of colorful papers and bits of tinseled ribbon. 
And the kitchens! Fat uncooked turkeys were sur¬ 
rounded with innumerable brown paper bags. Big bags, 
little bags, or middle-sized bags, but all of them bulg¬ 
ing! 

The Christmas tree had just been brought into 
Flopsy’s house, and its sweet pungent perfume filled 
the living room. By closing one’s eyes and merely 
breathing, one knew immediately, that this was not the 
same kind of a dull December day as yesterday! 

The regular postman, with an extra-heavy load and 
his extra-pleasant smile, was assisted by a troop of 
young boys, who dropped cards into mail boxes hour 
after hour. The genial delivery boys stayed longer in 
the kitchen, and the regular newsboy sang out a blithe 
“Merry Christmas,” as he rang the front doorbell, in¬ 
stead of throwing the paper against the door as usual. 
All these strange signs proved it definitely was not the 
ordinary kind of a dull December day! The butcher, 
the baker, the grocer, the laundry man, the coal man, 
and the milk man all left calendars, most of them so 
ugly and highly colored, that no one would have been 
pleased at receiving them the previous day! Even with¬ 
out the usual snow, ice and wind, this day before Christ¬ 
mas was quite different! 

Christmas morning! The bliss of it, the mystery of 
it! It was an established custom in the Moore family 
that no one should see the tree until breakfast, when 
they could all see it together. It made hearts beat faster 
to wait, and imagination nearly intoxicated with hap¬ 
piness. The tree was in the sun parlor off the dining 
room, and the French doors leading into it had been 


182 Almost Fifteen 

draped so that during a seemingly endless breakfast, 
the children couldn’t even have a glimpse of the tree. 
The last thing Mr. Moore had done the night before 
was to hang its many windows with dark curtains. The 
lights on the tree twinkled better, and looked more 
dazzling in a dim light. After the last mouthful of toast 
was choked down, the entire family lined up before the 
French doors, Dickie first, then Frankie, followed by 
Flopsy, and, last of all, Mrs. Moore. 

Flopsy’s cup of Christmas joy had been filled to the 
brim the day before. That rich relative in a distant 
city, who had sent Mrs. Moore the hostess gown, had 
this time mailed a check for ten dollars to be distributed 
among the three children. Flopsy had taken her three 
dollars and thirty-three cents with a grateful heart, and 
had gone on an orgy of spending. She was treading on 
air. She’d give Fleurette an even better present than 
Fleurette had given her. Fleurette had delivered hers 
in plenty of time, so that there could be no misunder¬ 
standing. And there had been an expectant look in her 
eyes when she had handed it to Flopsy the day before 
Christmas. Flopsy felt she loved Fleurette, at the mo¬ 
ment, more than any of her friends. Fleurette had been 
so sad, so terribly sad, at the thought of Flopsy’s nar¬ 
row escape from death. She could not forget that easily 
and it deserved a seventy-five cent present at least! 
Fleurette’s present to her, she figured, cost fifty cents 
and she must top that! 

For her mother, Flopsy had bought two vases, as 
beautiful as could be had in the land, for twenty-five 
cents each! They were white, and her mother liked 
white vases for the brilliant zinnias and golden mari- 


Christmas Presents 183 

golds from her beloved garden. Besides these, she had 
bought a box of soft gooey candies, which cost one dollar 
and fifty cents! Mrs. Moore loved soft, and very sweet, 
candies. Flopsy’s cheeks were burning with excite¬ 
ment when she took this box from the salesgirl. Every¬ 
thing was perfect. 

Christmas morning, Flopsy accepted two bead neck¬ 
laces, exactly alike, from her two brothers, and was 
delighted with them. Frankie thanked Dickie enthusi¬ 
astically for a game, with which they had secretly been 
playing for several weeks. And his thanks were as 
sincere as if he had never seen it before! 

When all the presents had been exchanged, and every¬ 
one had Ahed! and Ohed! and had said over and over, 
“It’s just what I wanted,” Mr. Moore went upstairs. 

“Hold everything!” he had said as he went out of 
the room. “There is one more present. It’s for you, 
Flora Madden Moore. Just wait. Hold your breath! 
Don’t look so surprised, Mrs. Moore, you don’t know 
anything about it, but you will presently. I had to do 
it up all by myself. It’s the piece de resistance, the 
crowning gift to our one and only daughter. I couldn’t 
resist it. It’s a tribute to her hard little red head. Sup¬ 
pose it couldn’t have held out against a stone wall? 
We shudder to think!!” 

Flopsy stared at her mother, her eyes wide. Her 
lips were parted and her heart was thumping. Mrs. 
Moore kept shaking her head. What was he up to, 
she’d like to know? 

They heard him pounding down the stairs, as hur¬ 
riedly and vigorously as one of the boys when he was 
up to mischief. He came into the room, his face beam- 


184 Almost Fifteen 

ing. Under his arm, was a huge box, a packing box. 
It was done up in every kind of paper, and tied with 
ribbons, cords and rope. He laid it on a table. 

“Open it up! Open it up! I can’t wait to see your 
expression. And your mother’s face. She’s going to 
be sorry because she didn’t think of it. But she will 
just be tickled pink that at least I thought of it!” 

Her hands trembling with excitement, Flopsy tore 
and pulled at the complicated bindings on this mysteri¬ 
ous package. Her two brothers had their heads in her 
way, part of the time, and, too, they were so close that 
she couldn’t move her elbows. 

“Oh dear! Boys, move away,” Flopsy panted, “I’ll 
never get it open!” 

The lid was at last removed, and they all gathered 
around expectantly. More inner wrappings! Fever¬ 
ishly, these were torn away. 

Flopsy stared down in blank and confused amaze¬ 
ment. She was looking down at her mother’s hostess 
gown! 

Mr. Moore was rubbing his hands together in glee. 
“Aren’t you going to thank your father for his happy 
thought? And your mother, too, deserves a word or 
two of thanks.” 

The color rushed into Flopsy’s face, and she looked 
from one to the other of her parents. There was such 
a funny expression on her face that they both laughed. 

Mrs. Moore’s eyes had little wrinkles of amusement 
at their corners. 

“Your father’s an old goose, Flopsy! The night you 
were brought home from the hill, my hostess gown was 
on your bed. I never gave it a thought until the next 


Christmas Presents 185 

morning. Then I remembered that it had a strange, 
unaccountable way of falling off the hanger. Perhaps—” 
Mrs. Moore asked smiling, “you will lend it to me some¬ 
time, if I should need it?” 

“By rights, Flopsy, you really should! Your mother 
was quite nice about it when she had it,” and Mr. 
Moore looked at his wife a little sheepishly. He was 
grateful that she was taking his cherished little scheme 
so well. 

In a flash, Flopsy was deep in her mother’s arms. 
“It’s the best Christmas I ever had, the very bestl” she 
choked. 

It was Mr. Moore’s turn next, and over her red head, 
he murmured to his wife, “It’s always, and everlastingly, 
worth it!” 


Chapter Eight 

High Finance 

HE Christmas holidays were now as far away 



as they could ever be, nearly a whole year. 


JL Christmas never seemed as remote as it did dur¬ 
ing the middle of January. The one just past was 
further away than the next one! 

Babbie was going to enroll again at Hamilton as soon 
as the new term began, and Flopsy was possessed now 
by only serious thoughts and worries. Would she pass 
her mid-year examinations? And could she complete 
her treasurer’s report in the short time left before it had 
to be made! What was going to be done about the 
sorority? No wonder she felt as though the holidays 
were far, far away. January was an endless month! 
She decided that she hated it worse than any other 
month in the entire year! 

Now that the cherished hostess gown hung on a rack 
in her closet, it brought her little happiness. She retired 
to her room each night to study in grim earnest, and 
did not even bother to turn on her radio, except on rare 
occasions. 

There seemed nothing else to do but study these 
days. She wasn’t having any fun at all! 

One afternoon, a crowd had stayed late at school to 
watch a basketball game in the girls’ gymnasium. After 


186 



There didn’t seem to be anything to do—but study . 







188 Almost Fifteen 

it was over, some of the boys had danced with her. She 
had gone home feeling very proud of her new leather 
windbreaker as Bill Forbes had made her stand still, 
while he wrote his name on it. In the next fifteen min¬ 
utes she had collected nearly a dozen other autographs, 
all from boys! There was an impressive collection of 
such nicknames as Spike, Buck, Boots, Bud, Slim, Fat 
and Popeye! Popeye was a strange looking fellow, but 
he was a senior. And that was important 1 She felt 
more important as the owner of this windbreaker than 
she had over anything in weeks! But she was a little 
subdued and disappointed that her mother was not 
equally impressed. In fact, Mrs. Moore actually seemed 
annoyed. It was a new windbreaker, and the most ex¬ 
pensive one that she had ever bought for Flopsy. 

“But all the girls have names written on their jackets! 
And we wrote on the boys ‘sneakers.’ I have my name 
on Wilton Locke’s!” Her face flamed. She wished she 
hadn’t let this out! Chin or no chin, apple-cheeked or 
not, she liked Wilton Locke again. Milton Brooks was 
too far away. However, she didn’t like Wilton as much 
as she had before she’d ever spoken to him. But she 
simply had to have something silly to think about to 
enliven these serious days. She had felt very proud as 
she borrowed Wilton’s fountain pen and printed her 
initials on the “sneaker.” Wilton had put his foot up 
on a chair so that she could print more easily. After 
her initials, she had put ASA in brackets. 

“Well! Well!” Wilton had said, “So it’s still Delta 
Sigma Delta?” 

“Not for long now,” Flopsy retorted, “but I put 
those initials on there to haunt you.” 


High Finance 189 

“I see we’ll have another little job ahead of us,” he 
promised, with a significant wink. 

“Oh no you don’t! Not this time!” Flopsy assured 
him grimly. “Never again.” 

Fleurette, who had been standing nearby, and had 
overheard this little conversation, had flushed and 
turned her head away. 

The Delta Sigma Deltas had decided to postpone 
their next meeting until Babbie should come back to 
Hamilton. She was to be taken into the new sorority 
without an initiation. She’d be a charter member, they 
promised her, and she could help make up their new 
secrets. Flopsy was keeping her thoughts about Fleur¬ 
ette and the new sorority very, very much to herself. 
She had a plan in the back of her head. 

One afternoon, toward the end of January, Flopsy 
walked into her house with as gloomy an expression on 
her face as her family had ever seen. The last meeting 
of the Sophomore B’s was to be the next afternoon. 
That morning at breakfast, her father had handed 
Flopsy the key to her bank. And now she faced the 
unhappy prospect of opening it. According to her book, 
she should have twenty-two dollars and fifty cents, 
but there were some boys and girls who just never did 
pay. During the last week or so, she had been dropping 
her own nickels into the bank. It had pained her to 
do it, but she dreaded the ghastly possibility that she 
might have a “shortage.” What a word that was! She 
had seen it in the newspapers, and it was always mixed 
up with courtrooms and jails. 

As she turned the key in the bank her heart, she 
decided, had stopped beating altogether. She felt as if 


190 Almost Fifteen 

she were going to faint. She shook the bank, and a 
torrent of dimes and nickels tumbled out all over her 
desk. Some of them fell on the floor and rolled under 
the furniture in her room. Her eyes brightened. Why, 
there must be thousands and thousands of them! Her 
room was crawling, creeping and alive with dimes and 
nickels! It was like a dream she once had had of get¬ 
ting her hands into piles of loose coins. But in the 
dream, just as she reached out to gather them up in 
her hands, she had awakened, to find she had nothing! 
This was one time when Flopsy hoped that dreams did 
not come true. She got down on her hands and knees 
and began to crawl around her room. Her cheeks were 
now burning with excitement, as she picked up dime 
after dime. Oh, she must have enough. Maybe she had 
too much. As she squirmed under the bed on her 
stomach, a brilliant thought came to her. She started 
to sit up and revel in it, but she cracked her head on 
something. The bump didn’t hurt too much, but it 
did discourage her untimely day-dreaming. She had 
intended to plan what she would do with the extra 
money. Instead, she went right on picking up coins. 
After all she reflected soberly, there must be several 
hundred dimes in twenty-two dollars, and they could 
take up a lot of space. 

For an hour, she intently counted dimes and nickels. 
She stacked them in piles of ten, but never once man¬ 
aged to get the same total. At times she quivered with 
joy, and again she was engulfed in the blackest despair. 
The nickels had to be in stacks of twenty, to be equal 
to ten dimes, and they kept tumbling over and get¬ 
ting mixed up. Three times in succession she had 


High Finance 191 

counted something or other just over twenty dollars! 

“NUTS!” she groaned. Pushing over stack after 
stack of coins, she began to cry with great heartwrench- 
ing sobs. She stumbled to her bed and threw herself 
face downward on it. Then she cried until her head 
throbbed. Where was her mother? She had thought 
about dreams coming true, but this was a plain every¬ 
day nightmare! She had cried until her head ached 
and her eyes were swollen. She lay very still now. She 
was exhausted! The Sophomore class would say she’d 
stolen their old money. Maybe she’d get into the news¬ 
papers. Well, they couldn’t call her a “Gun-girl” be¬ 
cause she hadn’t used a gun, but she might have to go 
to jail. In the movies, the girls always mopped up 
floors. They got down on their knees, and splashed in 
pails full of soapsuds. Then a cranky looking woman 
came along, and shouted at everyone. Flopsy’s temper 
rose. Well, she wouldn’t be shouted at by anyone, even 
in jail! This wasn’t her fault, altogether. She lay there 
thinking back over the last months. Some of the people, 
who said they had paid, just hadn’t! That was all. That 
silly Paulette Muggesser, for instance. She ought to go 
to jail, too. 

“Flopsy!” 

Flopsy turned over, and looked in the direction of 
the voice. Her mother was standing in the doorway of 
her bedroom. Mrs. Moore had taken the situation in 
at a glance. And she looked even more dismayed as 
Flopsy began to sob again. 

Mrs. Moore came over and sat on the edge of the bed. 

“Now—now. How bad is it?” 

“It’s awful, and they’ll put me in jail,” Flopsy wailed. 


192 Almost Fifteen 

“They will do nothing of the sort. Don’t be foolish. 
I was afraid of this. We shouldn’t have let you under¬ 
take this office. It’s all been managed very badly. Oh, 
come now, my darling! Stop crying. You’ll only make 
yourself sick. Let’s go over this sorry business together. 
How much money have you?” 

Flopsy sat up. She looked very miserable. Her eyes 
were so red from crying that they were almost shut. 

“I’ve counted—and counted—and counted—and I’ve 
had a million answers,” she choked. “And I’m not sure 
I’ve added up my book correctly.” 

“You probably haven’t,” Mrs. Moore commented 
crisply. “Now, we are going to work on this wretched 
mess together. And don’t you ever—ever—” 

“Be treasurer again? Never! Never!” Flopsy, as 
she made this promise, was on the verge of hysterics. 

“Go and wash your face in cold water, and we’ll try 
to get some order out of chaos.” 

Flopsy felt better, now that her mother was taking 
charge. 

They worked steadily counting Flopsy’s coins, and 
every so often, Flopsy would catch a glimpse of one 
shining under the edge of her bureau or under a chair. 

Mrs. Moore opened the treasurer’s book. “Well, I 
must say, from the looks of these accounts, that you 
have given everyone the benefit of the doubt. I imagine 
we won’t have any complaints if we can make this 
money tally with the book.” After fifteen minutes, Mrs. 
Moore turned to her daughter. “Flopsy, I should say 
that you had made twenty-one mistakes.” 

“Twenty—” Flopsy’s face drained of all its color. 
She was terrified. How AWFUL! She was sunk, fin- 


High Finance 193 

ished, disgraced. It was the end of everything. Twenty- 
one mistakes! 

“Twenty-one mistakes mean a shortage of two dollars 
and ten cents,” Mrs. Moore hastened to explain. Flopsy 
looked as though she had thought it might mean several 
hundred dollars. 

“Two dollars and ten cents,” she echoed blankly. 

“Well, it’s better than I feared it would be. We will 
not have to put a mortgage on the house. It’s been a 
sorry experience. It wouldn’t have been if you had let 
Daddy and me bank it from time to time. Now, let’s 
talk over ways and means. We are not going to let you 
face public disgrace, Flopsy. After all, my dear child, 
what are good friends for? And mothers, for that 
matter? We must stand together. Listen, my precious 
child, if you begin to cry again, I can’t talk to you.” 

Flopsy was now weeping wild tears of gratitude and 
relief. Her mother held her hot, feverish body in her 
arms, and stroked her hair. “Now—now. You can pay 
me five cents a week out of your allowance, if you like, 
for a few months. You don’t get too much. I won’t ask 
any more than that. I am not very rich myself right 
now, but I can scrape two dollars together for tomorrow. 
We have the Moore name to save, you know.” 

“Oh, mother!” Flopsy was too choked up to con¬ 
tinue. 

“We won’t say a word about this to any one. It will 
be a secret between you and me. And if that five cents 
a week gets to be a heavy burden, your mother will 
never sue you for it. I only suggested it so it will remind 
you never, never to be treasurer again, of anything. 
Taking care of other people’s money is a dangerous and 


194 Almost Fifteen 

risky responsibility for some one who can’t add any 
better than you, even though you intended to be as 
honest as the day is long. You are too careless, much 
too careless.” 

Flopsy tossed about that night, for hours it seemed. 
She was so happy, because that dreadful fear was laid 
at rest, that she couldn’t sleep. She had not realized 
how terribly it had haunted her. Over and over, she 
sighed with contentment and relief. What a mother 
she had! Was there, could there be, another like her 
in the whole world? She would remember forever this 
dreadful, miserable day, and the peace her mother had 
brought her. 

It was decided the next morning that Mrs. Moore 
should bank Flopsy’s collection of dimes and nickels 
for her. The money was to stay in the bank until the 
new class officers should be elected, and then Mrs. 
Moore would give Flopsy two ten dollar bills and the 
few extra dollars to be turned over to the new treasurer. 
There was nothing more to worry about! 

“We aren’t going to have an election until we are 
Sophomore A’s,” Flopsy explained. “Some pupils may 
not be promoted.” 

“But don’t let anyone convince you that you’ve been 
an excellent treasurer, and that you should attempt it 
for a second time,” Mrs. Moore warned. 

“Oh, moth-er!” Flopsy protested in horror. “Being 
treasurer just once was the worst thing that ever, ever 
happened to me!” 

The Sophomore B meeting that afternoon was held 
in the Latin room. A boy named Tom Shepard was the 
Class President, but he knew little about how to con- 


High Finance 195 

duct a meeting. Flopsy was amazed to hear the Secre¬ 
tary, Lawrence Hoffman, read off a list of bills. Most 
of them were for the Sophomore party just before 
Christmas. Lawrence had two bills from a florist. One 
was for flowers sent to Flora Moore. The bill was 
two dollars! 

Flopsy’s eyes opened wide with a sudden thought. 
Two dollars! She couldn’t wait to tell her mother. It 
was a joke on them! 

“Does anyone move that the Secretary’s report be 
accepted?” Tom Shepard looked about the room. 

Ten people, at once made the motion, and fifteen 
seconded it. The matter was finished. The Secretary’s 
report was accepted. 

“Hand over those bills to Miss Moore!” Tom said 
pompously, and winked at Flopsy. “Now, the treas¬ 
urer’s report. Oh, by the way, Miss Moore, those bills 
have to be paid. I hope you have enough to pay off 
fifteen dollars and fifty cents! I hope! I hope!” And 
he winked again, and rolled his eyes. 

Flopsy was on her feet. This was wonderful! Fifteen 
dollars and fifty cents! This was easy. They, her 
mother and she, need not have worried so the night 
before. She gave her report with a high heart. With a 
swagger she concluded, “And I’ll be glad to pay for 
the flowers you sent for my black eye!” 

There was a roar of laughter. 

“Mr. Hoffman didn’t read my letter of thanks for 
those flowers. It was a nice letter. Where is it, I’d like 
to know?” She went on. She was enjoying the fun. 

Secretary Hoffman stood up and protested. “I 
thought it might embarrass you.” 


196 Almost Fifteen 

“Wasn’t it spelled right?” Flopsy retorted quickly, 
her eyes dancing. 

“Two words were left out. But I’d have put them 
in, if I could have guessed what they were,” Lawrence 
Hoffman grinned. “But that wasn’t the reason, I didn’t 
read it. I thought it seemed funny to ask you to pay for 
your own flowers. But I couldn’t pay the two dollars 
myself. I’ve been financially embarrassed since Christ¬ 
mas.” 

“ORDER! ORDER!” Tom pounded on his desk. 
“Who moves that the Treasurer’s report be accepted? 
I am waiting for motions and secondeds. Waiting! 
Waiting!” 

There were shouts of, “I move it be accepted,” from 
dozens of throats. And others were shouting, “I second 
it!” 

“The harmony is impossible!” Tom yelled. “This 
has to be done right! Miss Spencer, our class sponsor, 
is likely to walk in at any minute, and she’ll be ap¬ 
palled!” Tom pulled his mouth down as he used the 
teacher’s pet word. “Let’s get these reports off our 
hands, before she comes in. Let one person,” and he 
held up one finger, “make a motion that Miss Moore’s 
report be accepted. One!” 

Ten individuals shouted again. 

“O.K.” Tom groaned. “I get it! Miss Moore’s report 
is accepted. Any corrections, omissions or errors?” he 
asked, and put a finger in each ear. “And don’t shout,” 
he commanded. 

The matter was definitely settled to everyone’s com¬ 
plete satisfaction. The Treasurer’s report was accepted 
with shouts. Flopsy was radiant. 


High Finance 197 

“How about nominations for officers for next term?” 
Tom asked next. 

The meeting was a riot for the next half hour. 

Flopsy managed to get the floor just once. “Listen, 
you aren’t supposed to have a dozen motions on the 
floor at the same time. That’s not parliamentary law.” 

“You unscramble us, Miss Moore,” Tom suggested, 
goodnaturedly. “You tell us which was the original mo¬ 
tion. And if you can, some one can make another 
motion to thank you.” 

Just then, Miss Spencer came into the room. The 
Sophomore B’s finished their last meeting quietly and 
in perfect order. They managed to nominate their new 
officers. William Forbes was to run against Tom Shep¬ 
ard for president. Tom had tried to withdraw, but he 
had a few friends who insisted that he run. It looked, 
however, on the surface, as though Bill Forbes would 
win. Flopsy was thrilled right down to her toes to see 
herself listed for vice president against a girl named 
Ethel Warren. Hardly anyone knew Ethel! She, 
Flopsy, would be sure to win. The other two officers 
would surely be boys. She’d be the only girl officer in 
the Sophomore A class. If —if—she were promoted. 
That was another unpleasant thought. If she were 
promoted! She had just coped with one worry, and here 
was another! 

“I move we thank Miss Spencer for her kind help 
and consideration,” Flopsy stood as she spoke. She 
felt that she was being very brave and gallant. She had 
been momentarily depressed at the thought that she 
might not be promoted, but now she was thinking of 
someone else. 


198 Almost Fifteen 

The last meeting of the Sophomore B class was com¬ 
pletely satisfactory to Flopsy. She longed to rush home 
and tell her mother the joke, but she waited to walk 
home with Fleurette and Alice. 

“I think it’s grand that you’re going to be our vice 
president,” Fleurette said enthusiastically, the first mo¬ 
ment they were alone. “It’s great for School Number 
Nine.” 

“She’s not elected yet. She’s only nominated,” Alice 
corrected promptly. “Ethel Warren might win. Being 
nominated, and being elected are two different things 
and you’d better wait until the election is over.” 

“It is this time,” Fleurette snapped. “Who ever 
heard of Ethel Warren?” 

“A few people have, or she wouldn’t have been nomi¬ 
nated. They ought to have waited until next term to 
have nominated people. Some people may not be 
promoted. I wish we’d waited until Babbie got back. 
I bet she would have been nominated.” Alice’s tone 
was calm, although it had an edge to it. 

“What do you want to bet Flopsy is elected?” Fleur¬ 
ette challenged. 

“I won’t bet. Probably she will be. I’ll vote for her, 
of course, She’s my sorority sister. I have to.” Alice 
snapped this time. 

Flopsy’s heart sank. She looked pleadingly at Fleur¬ 
ette. This was mean, just mean of Alice! 

“I don’t have to vote for Flopsy. I’m going to be¬ 
cause she’s my friend, and I want her to be vice presi¬ 
dent.” Fleurette’s face was pink with anger. 

“No one has to vote for me.” Flopsy did a little 
snapping herself. “I don’t care who, or what, they are. 


High Finance 199 

And Babbie would never have run against me. I know 
her. She’s too good a friend.” 

“I didn’t say she would,” Alice returned smoothly. 
“And don’t be silly about my voting for you. You know 
I would. We Delta Sigma Deltas—” 

“Shut up!” Flopsy blazed. “Oh, stop it, Alice!” she 
implored. This was terrible! It was the first time the 
Delta Sigma Delta had been mentioned before Fleurette. 
“Besides, the Delta Sigma Delta isn’t—” 

“Now, you stop it!” Alice warned, her own eyes 
blazing. “Don’t say another word.” 

“Don’t worry. I won’t.” Flopsy slipped her arm 
through Fleurette’s and squeezed it. “And I’d drop 
dead on the spot, Alice Holt, if you were ever nice after 
I’d been elected to anything.” 

“Don’t be silly! This has nothing to do with your 
being elected, and you aren’t anyway. The election is 
a month off.” 

“Well, you’re hoping—” Flopsy’s tone was sarcastic. 
“I am hoping you will be elected, and you know it. 
We want our sorority sisters to be elected to things!” 

“Good night!” And Fleurette fired a parting shot, 
“I understand you, Alice, I’m not stupid. But you are, 
if you think I am.” 

Fleurette, with her nose in the air, marched off, and 
Flopsy looked after her regretfully. She turned to 
Alice and demanded, “Why did you have to do that? 
Why did you mention the D.S.D. to her? That was 
just mean!” 

“What difference does it make? She knows you are 
in it, and she knows too, that she isn’t.” Alice retorted. 
“And she never will be.” 


200 Almost Fifteen 

“Not in the D.S.D. maybe, but in the new sorority. 
You wait and see.” Flopsy’s brown eyes were wrathful. 

“You wait and see!” Alice returned grimly. “You 
try to get her in, and see what happens. As a friend, 
I am giving you this advice. I’m warning you. She 
will be blackballed.” 

“Blackballed?” Flopsy echoed blankly. 

“Yes, blackballed,” Alice repeated firmly. “It only 
takes two blackballs to keep anyone out of the sorority! 
Only two.” 

Not for anything in the world, would Flopsy have 
admitted ignorance on the subject of blackballs, or that 
she had never heard of them before. But she could 
guess what Alice was implying. Maybe blackballs were 
sorority sisters. Anyway, two of them could keep Fleur- 
ette from being a member. 

“Are you going to be a blackball?” Flopsy asked. 

Alice laughed. “You’re a nut! How can I be a black¬ 
ball?” 

Flopsy flushed. At the moment, Alice could be almost 
anything black, she could think of, even a ball. 

“I’m hoping that Fleurette will be a member, and 
I’m going to see that she is.” Flopsy’s lips were set in 
a stubborn line. “And don’t you stop me.” 

Alice shrugged. “I won’t have to do a thing. I prom¬ 
ise you I won’t blackball Fleurette. But I never could 
see why you were so crazy about her.” 

“I am not crazy about her. I am not crazy about 
anyone. But she’s my friend. And you’ve had a lot of 
fun with her sometimes. And you have gone to her 
house. Why do you want to be so mean?” 

“I am not mean. You started all this! You get 


201 


High Finance 

excited over nothing! Forget it.” Alice’s tone was now 
smooth and syrupy. 

Flopsy said nothing, but she was raging inside. Alice 
always made her feel as though she had been excited 
over nothing. It was a hateful sensation. It made her 
feel foolish. Alice always seemed to come out on top 
in an argument. But the discussion was abandoned for 
the time. 

Flopsy did not go into details that night about what 
had happened on the way home. She simply said, 
“Alice always gets snippy every time I’m elected to 
anything!” 

“Well, Flopsy,” Her mother looked thoughtful, “all 
through your life, you will find that, if it isn’t Alice 
Holt, there will be other ‘Alices’ to grudge you your 
successes. And the sad part of it is that they will all 
too often be among your inner circle of friends.” 

Flopsy stared at her mother. She didn’t quite grasp 
the meaning of what she was saying. She turned it over 
in her mind, and then asked, “You know Dottie 
Green? Well, I hardly ever see her these days, but she 
rushed up to me after the meeting and hugged me. She 
said she was so proud of me, and that she liked having 
the old Number Nine get offices. Maybe there will be 
two, because Bill is running for President. Won’t that 
be funny? Number Nine will be tops in the Sopho¬ 
more A!” 

Mrs. Moore smiled. “Now tell me about your Treas¬ 
urer’s report. You haven’t mentioned it. You’d never 
think that the prospect of giving it was a major tragedy 
only yesterday.” 

Flopsy’s eyes opened wide with excitement. “How 


202 Almost Fifteen 

could I forget? The funniest, craziest thing happened! 
You’ll never guess! You know the two dollars that 
were a ‘shortage’? Do you know what they were for? 
They were for flowers for me! You know the flowers 
for my black eye? Isn’t that a riot? I—you—had to 
pay for my flowers.” 

“Good gracious, Flopsy! We didn’t pay for your 
flowers.” 

“Why!” Flopsy stared at her mother unbelieving. 
“Why—mother! Of course we did. If I hadn’t had 
those flowers we wouldn’t have had to put two dollars 
into the treasury. Why, of course, we paid for them!” 

Mrs. Moore sighed deeply. “Flopsy, sometimes, in 
fact, a good part of the time, I think you are a bright lit¬ 
tle girl. But there are times—and, at the moment, I am 
in despair. Those two dollars for your flowers have 
nothing to do with the two dollars we had to put in 
the treasury. If you hadn’t gotten those flowers, and 
if the class hadn’t bought them, we would still have had 
to put two dollars in the treasury. It was short two 
dollars, flowers or no flowers.” 

Flopsy felt, at the moment, she could return her 
mother’s doubtful compliment. Almost all the time, 
she thought her mother was very smart, but —some¬ 
times not quite so smart. This was one of them. Mrs. 
Moore could see the doubt in her eyes, and, patiently, 
she attempted to make the whole business clear. In 
the end, Flopsy admitted she could see what her mother 
was driving at— but —/ And Mrs. Moore felt that 
Flopsy would always go on believing she wouldn’t have 
been short in her accounts except for those flowers! 

The mid-year examinations were now only two days 


High Finance 2 03 

away. Flopsy studied, hard. But algebra, how could 
one study algebra? She was almost tempted to chew 
her finger nails off, as she looked through her algebra 
book. The history examination came first. She never 
had to worry about that. Once in a while she didn’t 
study her history lesson at all. In fact, she didn’t even 
open the book. But by listening attentively to the other 
recitations in class, she usually knew the lesson be¬ 
fore the period was over. She might, occasionally, be 
a day behind, but she always caught up in this way. 

The night before the algebra examination, she went 
over to Babbie, and, for hours it seemed, Babbie coached 
her. Babbie was always a whiz at mathematics, and she 
took this task very seriously. She must see to it that 
Flopsy passed. 

“You must be promoted. You’re behind now in 
Latin. You mustn’t, mustn’t flunk algebra, too!” Bab¬ 
bie’s eyes were filled with grave concern. “You’d be 
good in algebra, honestly, if you’d only concentrate.” 

Flopsy was pleased, for it must be true. This eve¬ 
ning, she had concentrated, and she had followed Bab¬ 
bie quite brilliantly. She was better tonight than she 
had ever been. Concentrating wasn’t so difficult, once 
in a while, but it was too much effort, day after day! 

A week later, Flopsy stayed after school to get her 
final marks on all the examinations. She had gone 
from teacher to teacher. She looked at her algebra 
mark as she read it from a slip of paper. She was 
thrilled. She was delighted! She could hardly wait to 
tell Babbie. It was wonderful. She had gotten seventy- 
one. She had passed. Algebra was over and done with, 
in her life. She would never, never have to bother with it 


204 Almost Fifteen 

again, not if she lived to be a hundred years old. She 
would never have to strain her poor brain concentrating 
on it. It was unbelievable. It was marvellous! 

Her history mark annoyed her, almost as much as 
the algebra mark had pleased her. It was only ninety- 
three. Last term she had had ninety-seven. Flopsy’s 
exuberant excitement over her algebra rating was al¬ 
most overshadowed by the fact that she had not reached 
her usual high mark in history. 

Her Latin mark was quite serious, as she was just 
over the danger line. The Dean, Miss Burroughs, 
wanted to see her about it. She should have done 
much better, considering that she was taking it for 
the second time. Miss Burroughs suggested that she 
might want to give up Latin, and change her course. 
She, perhaps, would be better in scientific subjects. 

Flopsy walked out of the big, front door of Hamil¬ 
ton High School that afternoon, almost completely 
happy. Nothing, not even her ninety-three rating in 
history, could depress her. She was a Sophomore A. 
Besides, she had passed English with the highest mark 
in the class, ninety-six. Her French mark had not been 
so bad either, seventy-nine. She stood on the top step, 
just as she came through the doors, and looked about. 
There must be someone around, to whom she could 
tell her exciting news. She hoped it would be Alice. 
There was no one in the world she’d rather tell that she 
was a Sophomore A. Alice had doubted that she would 
make it. Flopsy’s eyes brightened. There was Alice! 
She waved an arm, and shouted, “Hey, wait for me!” 

Alice waited. She could guess that Flopsy had good 
news. There was never any mistaking Flopsy’s pos- 



“Hey, wait for me!” Flopsy called. 























































206 Almost Fifteen 

session of good news, or bad. You could tell a mile 
away! Alice’s expression was not too pleasant. She 
had just learned that she had flunked in history. 

“Well, what’s the big news?” Alice called as Flopsy 
came within earshot. 

“Alice, what do you think I got in algebra? You’ll 
never guess.” Flopsy’s face was beaming. 

“Why should I try,” Alice retorted irritably, “if I 
can’t guess? You look as though you’d gotten ninety- 
eight. How did it happen? Who did you sit next to?” 
The last remark was supposed to be a joke, although 
nothing in Alice’s manner or tone indicated that she 
was in good humor. 

Flopsy’s face grew sober, but she answered only 
a little less jubilantly than she had planned, “Don’t be 
silly! I’d never get ninety-eight in algebra. I really 
didn’t expect to pass you know. But I did. That’s the 
exciting news. And two of the worst dumb bells sat 
near me, in case you’re insinuating.” 

“Did you pass everything?” Alice asked quickly. 

Flopsy nodded. “Everything! And I’m a Sophomore 
A. It would have been embarrassing if I hadn’t, 
now especially, since I am running for Vice-President.” 

“Well, if I were like Fleurette, I’d have my mother 
come to school about my history mark, it wasn’t fair. 
But I think it’s silly to have to drag mothers into our 
battles. The history examination wasn’t fair at all,” 
Alice complained. 

Flopsy forgot that she hadn’t been too happy about 
her history mark. But after all, one couldn’t complain 
too much about ninety-three, could one? 

“I got ninety-three in history,” Flopsy said calmly. 


High Finance 207 

“It was a harder examination than the last one. I got 
ninety-seven the last time.” 

“There, you see! Even you got a lower mark. That’s 
not much for you, for history’s your best subject. It 
never was mine.” 

“English is my best subject,” Flopsy retorted. “I got 
ninety-six in it.” 

Alice and Flopsy walked down the street, and both 
were feeling none too good after the siege of examina¬ 
tions. They didn’t quarrel, but they were close to it, 
and probably would have felt better if they had. It 
would at least have cleared the air. 

That night at dinner, Mr. Moore teased Flopsy. 
“So! You are raving, your word my dear, because you 
got ninety-three in history, and proud as punch be¬ 
cause you received seventy-one in algebra. Let me 
have more time to figure this out before I make any 
comments. It’s not quite clear to me. There must be 
more to this than meets the eye!” but he was smiling. 
Mr. Moore was pleased that Flopsy had passed all her 
subjects. 

The first day after the examination results were an¬ 
nounced, Alice met Flopsy in the hall, right after the 
first period. She was breathless with excitement. 

“Wait till you hear! Bill Forbes and Frank Gor¬ 
don are being initiated. You should see them. They 
are all painted up, and I heard that they have Lim- 
burger cheese rubbed in their hair.” 

Flopsy’s face lighted up with excitement. “Haven’t 
they got nerve! Imagine!” 

“And did they get roared at!” Alice was all in a 
twitter. “If you see Rosemary, or any of the others, 


208 Almost Fifteen 

pass on the news. It’s going to be fun. Maybe we 
can think up something.” 

After the second period, Rosemary hurried up be¬ 
hind Flopsy, and caught her arm. 

“Come with me, precious. I have something to 
show you. It’s worth seeing. It’s worth risking de¬ 
tention for. Don’t ask questions. Follow me.” Rose¬ 
mary walked toward the flight of stairs leading down 
to the first floor. “Come on, come on. It’s taking a 
chance, but you’ll be rewarded. It’s a sight that will 
warm your heart. I’ve got a scheme.” 

Flopsy followed eagerly, her heart pounding with 
excitement. There was something doing! She was 
burning up with curiosity. It must be something ex¬ 
traordinary to make Rosemary act this way. Rosemary 
was not naturally rash. She had a great deal of good 
common sense. 

“It’s about Bill and Frank, I bet!” Flopsy surmised, 
as they hurried downstairs. 

“Hush!” Rosemary cautioned. “Follow me. Say 
nothing.” 

To Flopsy’s amazement, Rosemary was now walk¬ 
ing straight toward the office. She turned and faced 
Flopsy just as she got to the door. 

“Follow me in and look about! I have lost my 
purse. I’ve got to ask if it’s been turned in. You’ve 
lost your new pair of gloves. Don’t forget!” 

Quite coolly, Rosemary marched straight into the 
office. Flopsy, with a pounding heart, followed her. 
Rosemary stopped and waited for her. As Rosemary 
nudged her, Flopsy turned her head. 

There sat Bill and Frank on seats by the wall, the 


High Finance 209 

most disgusted, most dejected looking pair of boys one 
could ever lay eyes upon! Bill’s hair was soaking wet, 
and was sticking out in all directions and Frank’s 
rather kinky blonde hair was also wet. Their faces 
were white, a shiny glistening white, due to two causes. 
They had, all too apparently, been scrubbed with soap 
and water, and their expressions were completely mis¬ 
erable and worried. Neither boy saw the girls at first. 
Both were looking intently down at their shoes as 
though their footwear might solve their present pre¬ 
dicament. 

“I don’t see anyone to ask about my purse,” Rose¬ 
mary said quite clearly. “I’ll come back at noon.” She 
stood, as she spoke, right at Bill’s side. He looked up. 
His expression was beyond description. He poked 
Frank, whose eyes rolled up sideways in their sockets. 
When he saw Rosemary’s taunting, jubilant expres¬ 
sion, he tried to grin nonchalantly. But it was a very 
feeble grin. 

“I think I’d better come back at noon, too,” Flopsy 
leaned over and spoke almost into Bill’s ear. “What I 
want will be here then too, I bet.” She gave Bill’s 
foot a little kick, and he responded with a grim look 
of utter disdain. She turned up her nose in derision and 
stuck out her tongue as she and Rosemary started 
toward the door. 

“Just too smart. Just too funny!” Rosemary tossed 
over her shoulder in the boys’ direction. “No sense at 
all! Serves them jolly well right.” 

The two girls hugged each other the minute they were 
outside the door. 

“And, sugar plum, that’s not all! They have to 


210 Almost Fifteen 

stay there until their mothers come to school. Isn’t 
that too, too perfect.” Rosemary chirped gleefully. 

“We had more sense!” Flopsy bragged quite loudly. 
“I never let a peep out of me, all day long, the day I 
was initiated.” 

“Urn! Um! Is revenge sweet!” said Rosemary. “It 
sure is, honey!” 

“What are you two girls doing on this floor?” a 
familiar voice asked. It was Dr. Bradley, the princi¬ 
pal. “And the bell has rung for the next period. You 
shouldn’t be wandering about and talking loudly.” 

“We went to the office. I lost my purse. But I’ll be 
back at noon. I can’t wait now,” Rosemary answered 
quickly. 

“Did you have a slip from your teacher to come 
here?” he asked sternly. 

“I was so worried I forgot,” Rosemary answered 
meekly. “I am sorry.” 

Flopsy stood by in horror. No one trifled with Dr. 
Bradley. 

Dr. Bradley looked down at them gravely from 
under his bushy eyebrows. 

“Go to your classrooms at once, and go quietly.” He 
turned on his heel and stalked toward the office. 

Rosemary and Flopsy walked toward the stairs, 
their own faces nearly as white as the boys had been. 

“I think you’ll have to carry me upstairs, my knees 
are caving in!” Flopsy whispered with a little giggle 
in Rosemary’s ear. 

“You’ll climb up them there stairs, me gal, on your 
own steam! I’m weak myself.” Rosemary patted 
Flopsy and grinned. “What an escape!” 


Chapter Nine 

Babbie to the Rescue 

F OR the next few days Hamilton High School was 
in more or less of an upheaval. Several hundred 
“freshies,” as the upper classes call them, were 
swarming all over the place. They were everywhere, 
rushing here and there, looking excited and confused. 
The teachers themselves looked somewhat excited and 
confused. Hamilton was really growing too crowded. It 
had been originally planned and built for half the 
number of students who now attended it. 

Flopsy and her friends, during this hectic interval, 
had lost track of Bill Forbes and Frank Gordon. 
Where were they? They had not appeared in class¬ 
rooms or study halls. No one was sure just what had 
happened to them. But rumors were plentiful! First 
the boys had been suspended, and then they had not, 
according to the talk which was going on constantly. 
But no one knew anything definite. Both seemed to 
have vanished completely, as neither was seen any¬ 
where, either in school or out of it. The earth seemed 
to have swallowed them up. 

“ ‘They say,’ ” Alice announced, with an air of au¬ 
thority, “that Dr. Bradley was wild. He won’t have 
any more such nonsense. My mother heard at her 
club that Mr. Forbes and Mr. Gordon had to go to 


211 


212 Almost Fifteen 

school. In a way, I am sorry for poor Frank. His father 
is an awful crank.” 

“I don’t feel too sorry,” Flopsy spoke with a self- 
satisfied air, “It serves them both just good and right 
for breaking into Helen Putnam’s cellar that night. 
They could have gone to jail for that! And then I 
heard they turned the study hall into a riot that morn¬ 
ing. Everybody was holding their noses. They say Bill 
put some of the limburger cheese on the radiator so the 
smell would be even worse. He was afraid they couldn’t 
smell what he had in his hair. Of course , they couldn’t 
get away with that!” 

“But where are they now?” Alice asked. “I haven’t 
seen Frank since it happened.” 

“They just don’t want to give us the satisfaction of 
teasing them. That’s all. They want us to think they 
put on a better initiation than we did. And am I laugh¬ 
ing! Ha! Ha! You can cry if you want to, I won’t.” 

The girls never managed to get a word, not one word 
out of the boys when they finally saw them. Bill and 
Frank grinned broadly, but shook their heads and 
shrugged their shoulders. What were they talking 
about? It sounded like gibberish to them? Of course, 
they had been to school every day! What trouble? 
They hadn’t had any trouble! What initiation? Whose 
initiation? No amount of teasing, gibing or torment¬ 
ing could shake the boys out of their good-natured in¬ 
difference. They continued to grin, and the girls finally 
had to give up in the end. They knew that they would 
never never have the satisfaction of getting either Bill 
or Frank to admit anything! 

Babbie had come back to school, and Flopsy was 


Babbie to the Rescue 213 

delighted. Any day now, the girls were going to have 
the meeting to reorganize their sorority. They wanted 
to be sure that Babbie would be there, and Babbie 
seemed to be looking forward to it as great fun. But 
she surprised Flopsy, because the Glee Club seemed to 
appeal to her quite as much, if not more. After she 
had attended her first meeting, she met Flopsy and 
her cheeks were burning with excitement. 

“Oh, Flopsy, I met the most wonderful girl at the 
Glee Club. You should hear her play the violin and 
the piano. She’s marvellous. She’s a Junior A, but 
she’s so tiny. I could have listened to her for hours. 
You must hear her!” 

“Who is she?” Flopsy asked in eager interest. 

“Her name is Judith Weinstein. Her uncle runs 
that dry goods store down on Elm Street. Why, Flopsy, 
she’s sweet! And so clever! She’s up for the honor so¬ 
ciety.” 

Flopsy looked at Babbie in surprise, but with a 
strange feeling of satisfaction and pride. Alice was al¬ 
ways saying that Flopsy talked and bothered with all 
sorts of girls she wouldn’t even notice! Now, Babbie 
had discovered a girl no one had ever heard of, that is, 
none of her friends had. Wouldn’t they be surprised, 
and perhaps annoyed, when they heard that Babbie 
liked Judith Weinstein! They thought their own little 
clique was the only one worth knowing in the whole 
school. Well, she and Babbie knew better. Judith 
must have gone to Number Two School. Most of 
Flopsy’s acquaintances scorned the former pupils of 
Number Two, as beneath their notice or even con¬ 
tempt. 


214 Almost Fifteen 

“Tell me about her,” Flopsy slipped her arm through 
Babbie’s. 

“Well, you know, I brought my guitar and banjo 
to school. And at the meeting I sang and played cow¬ 
boy songs. Judith loved them. Then, I noticed that 
she had a violin, so I asked her to play. At first she 
wouldn’t, for she was new in the Glee Club, too, and 
she was bashful. I just begged and begged. At last 
she did. Oh, Flopsy!” Babbie’s eyes were soft and 
glowing, and she stopped talking for she could not de¬ 
scribe Judith’s playing to her satisfaction. She had 
no words for it. “The others were as thrilled as I was! ” 
she concluded in a rush. “Miss Allison, the music 
teacher, was there. She came and thanked me for beg¬ 
ging Judith to play. No one had dreamed she could 
play like that. You’d like Judith. She’s only been in 
this country a few years, but she speaks perfect Eng¬ 
lish—when she speaks. But she doesn’t talk much. 
Her mother and father are dead. I found out a lot 
about her, and I took her home with me. Molly was 
crazy about her.” 

Flopsy’s pride in Babbie was growing by leaps and 
bounds. It almost choked her. Babbie didn’t have 
an envious or jealous streak in her whole nature. 
She was genuine in every sense of the word. 

“Oh, I’d love to hear her,” Flopsy spoke eagerly. 
“I’d love to hear her play. But you know me. I don’t 
know anything about music. Especially a violin. It will 
be hard for me to sit still. But I will, Babbie! But I 
bet I’ll still love your cowboy songs much better!” 

“Oh, no,” Babbie protested, “You couldn’t, you 
couldn’t like them better.” 


Babbie to the Rescue 215 

“But I could! I could, Babbie, honestly. A violin 
makes me nervous as anything. But if you say it’s 
beautiful, I’ll sit still and shut my eyes, and make be¬ 
lieve I like it. Anyway, I think it’s grand that you like 
Judith. I’ll like her, too. And won’t it annoy Alice!” 
she added with keen satisfaction. “She’ll make fun of 
me when I say I like a violin, and she won’t like Judith, 
I know. She’ll start an argument.” 

Babbie frowned. “Don’t tell her about Judith. I 
don’t want anyone to hear about her and not like her. 
Poor Judith would never want anyone to argue about 
her.” 

Flopsy nodded. She was very happy. She knew 
definitely now that Babbie would be on her side when 
the big moment came. Babbie couldn’t be snobbish, 
for it wasn’t her nature to be. This happy thought 
was shadowed for a second. Would it really clear the 
air if Babbie were to do or say anything? Flopsy wasn’t 
certain but it was comforting to know that she had 
one staunch ally. 

Rosemary stopped Flopsy a few days later. “Well, 
honey, we are going to get going. We are going to have 
a meeting at Helen Putnam’s day after tomorrow, 
right after school. It’s to be in her cellar again. But 
we’re going to keep the furnace room door open this 
time, so there can’t possibly be any eavesdropping. 
I’m asking Babbie, too, and you have to come pre¬ 
pared with ideas. Think up some Greek letters for 
our name. And, by the way, we may take in some new 
members. Two of our old members graduated this 
February.” 

Flopsy nodded. Her heart was pounding so hard 


216 Almost Fifteen 

she could scarcely breathe. It had come—at last! How 
could she wait two more days? 

“I hope,” Alice had said as they walked toward 
Helen Putnam’s home two days later, “that you won’t 
try to get Fleurette in. I’ve heard that we can take 
in some new members, so I’m asking you now, Flopsy, 
please, please, don’t mention Fleurette. We’ve been 
friends almost ever since we were born, and I’m warn¬ 
ing you that suggesting Fleurette for membership won’t 
do you any good. It will only cause a heap of trouble.” 
Alice seemed completely sincere. “Believe me, I know. 
Please, Flopsy, please! Besides, Fleurette would never 
be happy in our sorority. Some of those girls really 
don’t like her!” Alice hurried on to stop Flopsy’s hot 
retort, “I don’t dislike her. I don’t. I am not crazy 
about her. But be sensible, please.” Alice, by this time, 
had convinced herself of her own honesty. After all, 
they had been friends for many years, and she was 
actually worried! 

“You were over at her house last week. We had a 
swell time!” Flopsy’s eyes were narrowed, her mouth 
set in a stubborn line. 

“Yes, we did,” Alice sighed. She was frightened. 
She had never seen Flopsy quite like this before. 

“And you were very glad to go!” Flopsy’s expres¬ 
sion was grim. “We had wonderful things to eat and 
Mrs. Muldoon was grand to us.” 

It was quite true. Mrs. Muldoon had thought that 
Fleurette had needed a little party as a reward for hav¬ 
ing passed all of her examinations, and had told her 
that she might invite eight boys and girls. A girl Flopsy 
and Alice scarcely knew, and her special boy friend 


Babbie to the Rescue 217 

were there. The other boys were Frank, Bill and 
Harold Brownley. They had a grand time, and Bill 
was never sillier. Although the girls did not realize 
it, he was trying to show them that he had nothing 
on earth to worry about. This was shortly after the 
limberger cheese incident at school. On this particu¬ 
lar night at Fleurette’s party, Bill’s “act” was to ap¬ 
pear ravenous for food. Everyone offered him extra 
tidbits, and he ate and ate and ate. One would have 
thought he must burst! Mrs. Muldoon was highly 
amused, but also delighted! Nothing in the world 
pleased her more than that people should appreciate 
her cooking. She replenished Bill’s plate time after 
time, and he, again and again, accepted more food with¬ 
out protest. Mrs. Muldoon pretended despair, but 
managed to bring an endless supply of cakes, candies 
and sandwiches. And the evening was a grand suc¬ 
cess. He had even suggested stopping at a “dog 
wagon” for hamburgers—for he was simply starving! 
But the girls refused, as they had promised to be home 
at a definite hour. Bill pretended that he was crying 
and then they had had still more fun, as he walked home 
with them. 

Flopsy knew that Alice had had an exceptionally 
good time, for Mrs. Muldoon had been a lavish hostess. 
Fleurette’s friends could have had anything in her 
house. 

Flopsy was thinking about this, as she and Alice 
walked along. She wasn’t going to give in. She had 
made up her mind, and she’d stick to her guns no mat¬ 
ter what happened. 

Babbie had gone home to get her guitar, as the girls 


218 Almost Fifteen 

had asked her to bring it to the meeting. They were 
wildly enthusiastic, and could listen for hours, to the 
songs she sang and played. There had been years when 
cowboys had been Babbie’s only boon companions. 
They had come from miles away to entertain her, and 
she had copied their mannerisms and the very intona¬ 
tion of their voices, as she learned the cowboy songs. 
She did not realize that she was a clever mimic, for all 
this had come so naturally to her. 

When she reached Helen’s home that afternoon, all 
the other girls were there, and Babbie, as she greeted 
them, was completely unconscious of any tension in the 
air. She thought they were in high spirits, especially 
Alice Holt whose cheeks were burning feverishly, and 
whose eyes were unnaturally bright. Alice was deter¬ 
mined to stave off any unpleasantness. Babbie did not 
notice that Flopsy alone was quiet. Flopsy’s face was 
very pale and her eyes were large and grave. She 
couldn’t laugh, for her mouth seemed frozen. It was 
hard for her to pretend, when she felt as deeply as she 
did today, about anything. 

“Hello, puddin’.” Rosemary patted Flopsy’s cheek 
as she passed. Rosemary saw that something was 
wrong, but she had no idea what it might be. “Any¬ 
thing got you down?” 

Flopsy shook her head. “Oh, no, I’m all right 1” she 
answered in a strained voice. Rosemary stared at her, 
puzzled. “What’s the matter with Flopsy?” she whis¬ 
pered to Alice Holt a few minutes later. 

Alice swallowed hard, some of the color leaving her 
face. “Oh, I don’t know—” she answered, looking 
over at Flopsy anxiously. There was no doubt about 


Babbie to the Rescue 219 

it. They were in for it. At that moment, Alice would 
have preferred to be anywhere else on earth rather 
than at this meeting. 

Rosemary presided over the meeting, as she had been 
the vice-president of the Delta Sigma Delta. The presi¬ 
dent, Anita Lowe, had just graduated, but as she had 
always been very shy, Rosemary had usually taken 
over the reins at all of the meetings. 

It had been decided that the new sorority should be 
called Alpha Gamma. After juggling the Greek alpha¬ 
bet about for weeks, the girls felt these two letters 
were neat and effective. 

“Does anyone know what they mean?” Rosemary 
asked with a grin, “except A. G. Come, come, we must 
have a Greek scholar in our midst. Speak up, even 
if it’s Greek to us! How about you, Flopsy, you are 
our linguist? How do you like that word?” This was 
supposed to be very funny, and was intended to draw 
Flopsy out of her bewildering silence. The only answer 
was a shake of the head. Flopsy, Rosemary thought un¬ 
easily, was going to cling tightly to this mood of hers! 
Whatever was the matter? 

“Before we go on to the password, how about a 
little music? It might inspire us. Perhaps we could 
have a nifty little chant,” Rosemary suggested des¬ 
perately. She turned to Babbie, in an almost frantic 
effort to avoid the trouble she felt was about to de¬ 
velop. 

“Oh, please, please!” Alice begged. She, too, hoped 
that this would make Flopsy forget her pet project. 
Babbie picked up her guitar, and, with a grin and a 
bow, began to sing and play. She had been listening 


220 Almost Fifteen 

to a conversation between Joan and Helen, who were 
sitting on some cushions on the floor. They had been 
speaking in an undertone during Rosemary’s joking re¬ 
marks, and while Babbie hadn’t quite understood what 
they were talking about, it had made her uncom¬ 
fortable. She would rather listen to her own voice and 
guitar, than this strangely disturbing chatter. 

“She’s sore over something! ” Babbie had heard Helen 
say. 

Without mentioning who “she” was, Joan had an¬ 
swered, “Alice gave me a hint. And if she thinks she is 
going to get that girl in, she’s got another think com¬ 
ing. I told Rosemary this would happen! But she 
wouldn’t listen to me. You stick with me, Helen. Don’t 
forget.” 

“O. K. You bet I will!” Helen had promised. Then 
both girls had stared at Flopsy. 

What was it? What was it all about? Babbie was 
very uneasy. But she soon forgot everything, every¬ 
body. She was lost in her songs. The girls were en¬ 
thralled. The minute she would finish one, they would 
shout, “More! More! We want more!” 

At last Babbie laid her guitar down in her lap and 
breathlessly sputtered, “Give me a chance to catch my 
breath. I’m winded.” And it was small wonder, for 
some of her songs had countless verses which told long, 
long stories, and seemed to go on forever. Babbie’s 
eyes were dancing. Two bright spots of color burned 
in her cheeks. She felt as though she were back at 
Rawhide. She fully expected the roars of approval 
from a group of men. They had always been proud of 


Babbie to the Rescue 221 

her. And why shouldn’t they be? Wasn’t she their 
star pupil, and hadn’t they taught her all the music 
they had known? For a moment, Babbie wished she 
had brought her harmonica. Wouldn’t the girls have 
laughed! She had forgotten, for the moment, that dis¬ 
turbing whispered conversation. She was supremely 
happy. She had bridged the gap between Rawhide 
and Hamilton High School. 

“You deserve a rest,” Rosemary nodded. “And was 
that grand! How about giving our new member a 
great big hand?” 

The girls clapped wildly, and Rosemary watched 
Flopsy closely. Had she snapped out of whatever it 
was? Flopsy’s face was turned on Babbie in warm 
and glowing admiration. She was fairly bursting with 
pride. But in her face there was something else too, 
just as though she were thinking, “Oh, I’m so glad you’re 
my friend, a friend on whom I can count!” 

“Shall we discuss the password now?” Rosemary 
asked. “Or shall I appoint a password committee? We 
may never get anywhere by just suggesting crazy things 
this afternoon. How about you, Babbie? Will you be 
chairman? I’ll bet you’ve heard all kinds of funny 
yodeling around the ranch.” 

“Oh, that’s a good idea.” Joan Bassett agreed. “We’d 
just waste a lot of time and we have lots of other 
business. And Babbie would be marvellous.” 

“O. K.” Rosemary smiled. “And Babbie select your 
own committee.” Her smile was a little strained. Joan 
was worrying her now. Joan’s words had something 
behind them. Babbie nodded. She was very much 


222 Almost Fifteen 

pleased. This was the first time she had ever been 
chairman of a committee, and this committee would be 
a lot of fun, too! 

“Now, what next?” Rosemary asked, wishing she 
could adjourn the meeting. 

“Two of our members have graduated,” Joan an¬ 
swered quickly, “and I think we could take in two 
more girls. And, we should put on a good initiation to 
make up for that last one!” Joan looked directly at 
Flopsy, as though she were challenging her. “And re¬ 
member the old rule. Two blackballs keep a girl out— 
only two.” 

Flopsy looked at Joan in surprise and confusion. 
Why was Joan looking at her, and in such an unfriendly 
manner? Could Joan have read her mind? She hadn’t 
told anyone that she was going to propose Fleurette. 
Alice, of course, had guessed. 

“Has anyone a name to propose?” Rosemary asked 
hesitatingly. “Now, and no fooling,” she thought to 
herself, “the fun will begin.” She remembered that, in 
the past, there had always been a terrific fight over 
almost every name suggested. A few, of course, were 
not even worth an argument. 

“I propose,” Flopsy spoke quickly using Rosemary’s 
words for greater formality, “Fleurette Muldoon!” 

Joan smirked disagreeably at Rosemary, as if to say, 
“I told you this would happen! But, oh, no, you didn’t 
believe me.” Then she said, speaking to the group, but 
directing her words at Flopsy, “Yes, we’ll vote on Fleur- 
ette’s name, right straight this minute. And remem¬ 
ber, two blackballs are all that we need to keep her out! ” 

“What do you mean by that crack?” Flopsy asked 


Babbie to the Rescue 223 

hotly. “Why did you have to add that? Why did you 
have to remind everyone about the blackballs? Why? 
I want to know?” 

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Joan snapped. 

“I’ll find out right this minute. You didn’t need to 
say it. All you had to do was vote. You were giving 
people ideas. Why should anyone want to blackball 
Fleurette?” 

“We don’t have to give reasons, Flora Moore. We 
just do it. The votes are kept secret.” 

The room was very still. All eyes were on these two 
girls, first on Flopsy then on Joan. 

“You aren’t keeping your vote secret. Anyone could 
tell you are going to blackball Fleurette. And you are 
hinting that someone else should do it, too. That’s 
not fair. And why should you blackball Fleurette, I’d 
like to know?” 

“Oh, would you?” Joan sneered. “Well, I don’t have 
to tell you, but I will. I’ll be good-natured. I am go¬ 
ing to blackball Fleurette Muldoon because she’s com¬ 
mon and she’s ordinary” 

“Wait!” Rosemary put up her hand, “Wait, Flopsy! 
Joan shouldn’t—” 

“I won’t wait!” Flopsy blazed, swept from head to 
foot with temper. “How dare you say she’s common? 
She’s uncommon. She’s not like lots of girls. She’s dif¬ 
ferent. She isn’t mopey and stupid and sappy. She’s 
fun and she’s alive! And she’s my friend! Do you 
hear that, Joan Bassett?” 

“I heard you, and I still say she’s common. Her 
grammar is terrible. Her mother is common too, and 
laughs so loudly in the stores that you can hear her all 


224 Almost Fifteen 

v 

over. Fd be ashamed to tell my mother that Fleurette 
was in our sorority. I’d be ashamed to be seen with 
her in public.” 

“Joan Bassett!” Rosemary ordered, “Stop it!” 

“I’ve been seen in public with her for three years. 
I’ve walked home from school with her hundreds of 
times. I’ve had her at my home, and I’ve been to hers. 
Are you telling me that I ought to be ashamed?” 

“Take it, or leave it.” Joan spoke now with slow 
malice. “I don’t care what you think. I know what I 
think.” 

“Well, I can do some thinking myself. I’d be ashamed 
to tell my mother that any girl I had for a sorority 
sister was such a big snob as you are. A snob is an aw¬ 
ful, awful person. The worst kind of person!” Flopsy’s 
words were tumbling out now in a torrent. She didn’t 
know what she was saying, and she didn’t care! “Mrs. 
Muldoon is the kindest, biggest-hearted mother you ever 
heard of! That’s not common or ordinary.” 

Babbie’s face was as white as a sheet of paper. She 
leaned over and laid her guitar against the leg of the 
divan. Then she sat very straight, and stared in horri¬ 
fied fascination at Joan. She could scarcely believe her 
ears or her eyes. Alice’s head was lowered. Rosemary 
leaned back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling, 
as she gently tapped her foot on the floor. There was 
nothing more she could do for the minute. She realized 
that she couldn’t stop either girl. 

“You knew that Alice Holt and I were Fleurette’s 
friends. You saw us together lots of times. If Fleurette 
were common , why did we go with her? Do you think 
Alice and I can’t tell?” 


Babbie to the Rescue 225 

“I am not going to talk to you. I’m going to vote and 
Helen’s going to vote.” 

“You’re going to blackball Fleurette. I know. We 
all know. Well, if you do—” Flopsy broke off to catch 
her breath before making her threat. 

“If I do, you’ll resign. You won’t have to! The 
Alpha Gamma hasn’t started yet, and you don't have 
to join. That would be simple. No bother at all. Easy 
as falling off a log.” 

The silence that followed this suggestion was posi¬ 
tively stifling. The air was charged with a terrific and 
unbearable electricity. 

Babbie’s color had come back into her face. She 
was now the only girl in the cellar who was breathing 
easily and naturally. In her eyes, which were at the 
moment nearly black, was a glint that no one had ever 
seen before. Her hands were relaxed in her lap. She 
straightened her back, and looked at Joan, steadily and 
coolly. 

“That was poison mean!” she drawled. 

The roomful of girls came to life at the sound and 
timbre of her voice. They had been frozen into stiff 
unnatural positions. Now, every girl turned her head 
in Babbie’s direction. Joan, too, stared, but in con¬ 
fusion, bewilderment and dismay. She had, for the mo¬ 
ment, no answer to give. 

“Hallelujah!” Rosemary puffed out her breath in a 
thankful shout. “Amen Sister!” 

Joan looked about the room, from one face to an¬ 
other. Then she looked back at Babbie again. Bab¬ 
bie’s eyes were still upon her, watching her with a 
cool, quiet, deliberate speculation. Joan was awed, and 



“I think that is mean” Babbie drawled . 










Babbie to the Rescue 227 

almost frightened. A few minutes ago, Joan had occu¬ 
pied the center of the stage with Flopsy. Now, the focus 
of attention was Babbie, but Babbie was completely 
indifferent and unconscious of the attention she was 
being accorded. 

Joan’s mind worked feverishly, after the first shock 
of Babbie’s tone and words had worn off. Rosemary’s 
shout had been significant, and Joan realized that every 
girl in that room considered Babbie important. The 
Stewarts had been, from both a social and financial 
viewpoint, the most important family in town, for sev¬ 
eral generations. And now Babbie was a part of this 
tradition. She lived with the Stewarts, Joan knew how 
her own mother felt about them. It couldn’t be, it just 
couldn’t be, that Babbie would like Fleurette Muldoon, 
so much that she would fight for her? What was Bab¬ 
bie thinking? The ingrained, deep-seated snobbery in 
Joan was the battle ground for a bitter, though cold¬ 
blooded, tussle. Her contempt for Fleurette, and her 
awe of the Stewarts’ social position, were in terrific con¬ 
flict. Which would dominate in the end? She would 
have to decide within the next few minutes. 

“Oh, Babbie! Babbie!” Flopsy’s voice broke, and 
she buried her face in her arms. At first, she had been 
as surprised as Joan at Babbie’s tone, but when she 
heard Rosemary’s shout, she felt that something had 
really happened. She was now sobbing. Rosemary 
put her hand on Flopsy’s head. 

“Don’t worry, sugar! Sit up and listen.” Rose¬ 
mary’s voice was soothing. 

Babbie gave Flopsy one distressed glance, then 
promptly turned her gaze back to Joan again. She 


228 Almost Fifteen 

must keep her eyes on Joan Bassett. That was vitally 
important at the moment! 

“Barbara Hilton, you’re a grand girl!” Rosemary 
smiled with warm approval. 

Babbie didn’t turn her head. She was waiting for 
Joan’s first words. 

Alice looked from Rosemary to Babbie, and then 
from Flopsy to Joan. During the battle, Alice had 
been as miserable as she had ever been in her whole 
life. She, too, was having a tussle. After all, she did 
love Flopsy, and they had been friends for years. 
When Joan had practically suggested Flopsy’s leaving 
the sorority, Alice had been indignant and angry. That 
was going too far, much too jar. Now she swallowed 
hard, and spoke in a steady voice. 

“It really wasn’t fair in the beginning, to leave 
Fleurette out, and to break up our friendship. I—and 
Flopsy—and Fleurette did go around together. Any¬ 
one could see that! My sister, Mildred, was once a 
member of the Delta Sigma Delta, and she said, a long 
time ago, that it was mean. And Mildred said that when 
she got to her college, her sorority made a rule never to 
break up friendships. If two out of three girls were 
good enough, the other one was good enough too.” 

“Well!” Rosemary turned her head and looked at 
Alice. “That makes sense to me. And, I am going to 
insist that it be a rule in our new sorority. My hat 
is off to you, Alice Holt!” 

Alice turned pink with pleasure. She had never felt 
as proud as at this very minute. She went over to Flopsy 
and put her arms around her. 

“It’s going to be all right, Flopsy. Please don’t 


Babbie to the Rescue 229 

cry any more. Fleurette will be taken in. You wait 
and see!” 

Flopsy, with her arms around Alice’s neck, sobbed 
wildly. 

Babbie looked at her sympathetically, and then 
turned to Joan. Babbie was going to make sure. 

“What do you say, Joan?” she asked point blank, 
“what do you say about Fleurette? And did you 
mean that about Flopsy’s not belonging to the sorority?” 

Joan’s struggle was over. Her respect for the Stewart 
family had won—hands down! 

“Why, I don’t care! I don’t care!” She shrugged 
her shoulders, “and besides, Babbie, I was only fool¬ 
ing when I told Flopsy she could get out of the sorority. 
You didn’t think I meant it? How could I? I am only 
one. I can’t put people out. Anyway, Flopsy was talk¬ 
ing as though she wanted to get out.” 

“I reckon, then, I don’t know fooling when I hear 
it,” Babbie drawled. Unconsciously, she was imitat¬ 
ing one of the cowboys on the ranch. It was “Spike.” 
He never got excited, but he could make any hot¬ 
headed or “onery” person feel silly, with his slow drawl¬ 
ing comments. 

“Well, just skip that kind of fooling, honey. It’s 
likely to bring on nervous breakdowns. We don’t all 
take it the way you mean it,” Rosemary ordered. 
There was a decided edge to her voice. Rosemary had 
been arguing with Joan on this subject for several 
months. 

Joan was astonished at the girls’ eagerness to ac¬ 
cept Fleurette and make her one of them. It was 
amazing! It hardly seemed possible! She looked from 


230 Almost Fifteen 

one to the other intently, and thought fast. She had 
no wish to find herself, alone, in a very unpopular po¬ 
sition. No one was paying any attention to her. She 
had to give in to Babbie. She realized that. But she 
did not have to give in to Flopsy. Joan turned her 
back on Flopsy, and faced Babbie. 

“Well, Babbie, if you want Fleurette, I am sure I’ll 
never say, ‘no.’ I didn’t realize how much you liked 
her, or that you wanted her. I’ve never really spoken 
to her but once or twice. You know her much better 
than I do. I did say she was pretty, didn’t I, Rose¬ 
mary?” Joan appealed to Rosemary. 

Rosemary’s expression was indescribable. She stared 
at Joan, and then answered with a slow smile, “You 
surely did, honey, you surely did. I’ll never deny that 
you said she had pretty hair and eyes.” 

As Flopsy, Alice and Babbie left the meeting together, 
Flopsy couldn’t understand her own feelings. She was 
very happy, and yet she had a strange choked up feel¬ 
ing. She felt that it wouldn’t have taken much to make 
her cry again. Her heart was filled to overflowing with 
gratitude for Babbie’s stout support, and pride in her 
friend’s fine sense of fair play and loyalty. She couldn’t 
possibly have put this into words at the moment. She 
felt she would surely cry. 

Alice knew very well that it was Babbie who had 
made the afternoon’s ending so different from what it 
might have been. But she was proud of her contribu¬ 
tion toward the happy conclusion. She had offered a 
suggestion that was practical, sensible and very fair, 
and the girls had accepted it enthusiastically. For the 
first time since Alice had known Fleurette, she felt a 


Babbie to the Rescue 231 

warm feeling of friendship for her. She had done Fleur- 
ette a real service. Alice knew how deeply Fleurette 
had been hurt and humiliated by being “left out,” and 
she secretly hoped that some day Fleurette would 
learn that she had helped her to get into the sorority. 
But she realized that no one could ever tell her with¬ 
out telling the rest of the story. Alice was basking in 
a nice warm feeling of having done the fair and gener¬ 
ous thing. In a way, she had not done it for Fleurette, 
but for Flopsy. She had been dismayed at Joan’s cool 
suggestion that Flopsy drop out of the sorority. Alice 
had all too often squabbled with Flopsy, but they had 
been friends since they were babies, and Flopsy was not 
to be tossed aside for a girl like Joan Bassett. 

Babbie had been stunned and bewildered at first, and 
then disgusted to the very depth of her being. She 
had never dreamed, not even in a nightmare, that girls 
could act like that! Babbie had no idea that she had 
done anything. She did not realize that they considered 
her important. She felt that the change had come only 
because of Flopsy’s warm, passionate loyalty to a 
friend. She was proud of Flopsy! 

“You know,” Flopsy spoke slowly, “you know, I al¬ 
ways thought it was Rosemary who was keeping Fleur¬ 
ette out. She calls so many people pet names, like 
‘sugar’ and ‘honeybunch’ and ‘precious,’ and all that 
stuff. I thought she was just too sweet!” 

“Oh, no,” Alice returned eagerly, “I knew all the 
time it was Joan. She and Rosemary had lots of fights 
about Fleurette. Rosemary only talks that way because 
her sister goes to a southern college. When Cynthia 
comes home, she uses every last one of those pet 


232 Almost Fifteen 

names she’s heard. She does it to be funny, and Rose¬ 
mary just got the habit. It doesn’t mean anything.” 

“I am glad!” Flopsy’s face brightened. “I really 
wanted to like Rosemary.” 

“I am glad myself it all turned out the way it did, 
for I was just about thinking that sororities were stupid 
and mean. I’d rather have joined the glee club or one 
of the language clubs. I’m going to join the Spanish 
Club,” Babbie said quietly. 

Flopsy and Alice exchanged looks of alarm. 

“Oh, Babbie, don’t you think the girls were wonder¬ 
ful in the end? I bet they give Fleurette the best initia¬ 
tion they ever gave any one, and Fleurette will simply 
love it! I am looking forward to it—” Flopsy’s voice 
broke. The whole afternoon had stirred her up, let 
her down, and stirred her up again. She was exhausted. 

“Oh, Flopsy!” Babbie put her hand on her arm. 
“Do you suppose I’d run out on you? Never, never! 
You were such a wonderful friend today that I was 
proud of you. I knew you’d be like that! I knew it! 
It was just like you. And I want the fun of giving 
Fleurette a good time, too.” 

Flopsy turned her head away. As she did so, Alice 
glimpsed her face, and put her fingers to her lips in a 
warning to Babbie that she had better not say any 
more. Flopsy’s eyes were brimming with tears. 

“It’s too bad we can’t tell Fleurette right away,” 
Alice put in crisply, “but we’ll have to have another 
meeting, so that everything will be planned right. Oh, 
I do want to be with Flopsy when she asks Fleurette. 
I want Fleurette to know how much I want her, too.” 

“I think that would be a wonderful idea. I hope 


Babbie to the Rescue 233 

they let the three of us invite her. Fleurette would like 
a little crowd asking her, especially after having been 
left out so long,” Babbie agreed eagerly. “And let’s 
have her ‘pledged’ for a few weeks, and make a fuss 
over her all that time.” 

In alarm, the two girls saw Flopsy searching blindly 
for a handkerchief in her pockets and purse. 

Babbie dug down into her pocket and pulled out a 
fresh one. She slipped it into Flopsy’s hand, and Flopsy 
took it without a word. 

“Don’t you think it’s time we knew about Janet’s 
party? No one has heard one word from her since she 
went back to school after Christmas. Wouldn’t it be 
awful if she changed her mind?” Alice was talking fast, 
just for the sake of talking. She wanted to switch 
Flopsy’s thoughts to a gayer subject. 

“I’d be disappointed myself,” Babbie commented, 
but her eyes were on Flopsy’s averted head. “I’ve 
never been to a real party in my whole life, not even a 
little one, where there were boys and girls. You know 
I wasn’t at the graduation party, because it was just 
before graduation night, no one knew I was graduating 
until the night I got my diploma.” 

“You haven’t heard from Janet lately?” Alice dared 
to ask Flopsy. Perhaps she would welcome this change 
in conversation. 

“No, I haven’t. She didn’t answer my last letter.” 
Flopsy’s voice was still suspiciously husky. 

“The suspense is terrible!” Alice wailed, with an ex¬ 
aggerated sigh, “I wonder what boys she’ll ask?” This 
had been source of concern to Alice, who always found 
it difficult to hold the attention of strange boys. She 


234 Almost Fifteen 

was never able to say bright and witty things they 
seemed to like. She also admitted—but only to herself 
—that she wasn’t beautiful! 

“Oh, I don’t care who she asks,” Babbie returned 
with a little laugh. “I don’t know any of them very well. 
What I want is to be there! I want to see all the pretty 
dresses, and I want to dance to lovely music. I just 
want to go to a party , and I don’t care very much about 
the boys one way or the other. But one must have them 
at a dance, or it wouldn’t be a dance,” she added, prac¬ 
tical for a moment. 

Babbie and Alice walked as far as Flopsy’s front 
lawn with her, and then they left her rather abruptly. 
They both sensed that she was still close to tears. 

Mrs. Moore’s face was very thoughtful that night as 
she listened to the story of the meeting. Flopsy’s voice 
had broken several times, and finally she had given 
way completely to pent up tears. 

“It has all turned out so much better than I ever 
dared hope it would,” Mrs. Moore said slowly. “Girls 
can be pretty cruel to each other. And they can be 
pretty ruthless in their snobbery. I don’t think any 
D.S.D. or A.C. is worth the heartaches it may cause, 
but in this instance I feel that you have conquered a 
painful situation, and that you will have some real fun 
out of it. And I am happy! Now Fleurette won’t have 
to remember all her life that she was slighted and 
snubbed by her small world of friends.” 

A week later, Flopsy received a letter from Janet 
Dudley. She tore the envelope to pieces in her breath¬ 
less haste to discover its news. 


Babbie to the Rescue 235 

Her eyes opened wide with alarm at Janet’s first 
paragraph. 

“Dearest Flopsy — 

Am I disgusted? Am I disappointed? Am I mad? 

Ami raving? Vll say I am!” 

Flopsy’s heart was down in her boots. She read the 
entire letter with a leaden feeling. Janet’s mother was 
going to Bermuda to recuperate from a siege of pneu¬ 
monia, so the dance was off—absolutely and positively 
—for Janet couldn’t have it without her mother. Mrs. 
Dudley wouldn’t hear of such a thing. Janet thought 
that now she’d have to postpone it until she made her 
debut, which wouldn’t be for two years, and perhaps 
three. She had been too disgusted to write a long letter. 

Flopsy sat for a long time just staring into space, and 
then she walked slowly to the telephone. She had to 
pass on this wretched, miserable, disgusting news. She 
called Alice. 

“Isn’t that awful?” Alice wailed. “I’ve counted on it, 
and counted on it.” 

“And I’ve had so much fun just imagining it. I have 
the worst luck, the worst luck of anyone in the whole, 
wide world!” 

“Oh, she makes me tired talking about her debut. 
Nobody in this town ever, ever, had a debut. It’s just 
silly.” Alice’s tone was irritable. “That means ‘com¬ 
ing out.’ Coming out to what, I ask you?” 

Flopsy agreed. “It’s goofy, it’s nutty! How does 
she get that way? And I don’t see why Mrs. Dudley 
had to go and get pneumonia right at this time. I’ll 
bet you a cooky, she imagined the doctor told her to 


236 Almost Fifteen 

go away. I think she likes being mean. I remember an 
experience I had with her at Emerald Lake,” Flopsy 
said darkly. 

“You know what I bet? She’s going away so Janet 
can’t give a party to any of the boys and girls in this 
town. She thinks this town is nothing. She doesn’t like 
anyone here. I know, I’ve heard people say it a thou¬ 
sand times!” Alice’s tone was sour. 

“Why doesn’t she move away?” Flopsy snapped. 
“Well, I guess I’ll telephone Babbie now. I am so sorry 
for her. I am sorrier for her than myself, because 
Babbie never has been to a real dance.” Flopsy com¬ 
pletely forgot that she hadn’t either. 

Babbie was disappointed, very disappointed. “I had 
so much fun thinking about it. I was going to ask for 
a dress and slippers for my birthday. It’s in three 
weeks—the 20th of March. Well, it’s too bad.” 

Mrs. Moore ridiculed Flopsy’s wrath at Mrs. Dudley. 

“After all, my dear, she didn’t get pneumonia just 
to spite you!” 

“Well, I bet she wasn’t very sick with it, and I bet 
she doesn’t have to go away,” Flopsy insisted. She had 
never liked Mrs. Dudley, and at the moment, she liked 
her even less than on a certain day at Emerald Lake. 
On that memorable occasion, Mrs. Dudley had made 
Flopsy feel foolish, because she had mistaken a cup of 
bouillon for a cup of coffee. She believed that Mrs. 
Dudley was capable of doing anything just to be mean. 

The girls talked about Janet’s defection for days. 
They could not get over their very real disappointment. 

One afternoon, just as Flopsy came in from school, 
the telephone rang. She loved the sound of its bell, and 


Babbie to the Rescue 237 

always rushed to pick up the receiver as though she 
were about to hear something exciting. She invariably 
felt cheated when she had to call—“Moth-er! It’s for 
you.” 

“Hello, is that you Flopsy?” a strangely sweet and 
familiar voice asked. 

“Yes, yes, this is Flopsy.” Her heart beat a little 
faster, for the voice did not belong to one of her friends. 

“This is Miss Hilton to you, but to anyone else, 
Mrs. Stewart,” the voice identified itself. 

“Oh, Miss Hilton? How are you? How is the baby?” 

“He is wonderful! You’ve been neglecting him for 
weeks, and his feelings are hurt. Flopsy, I must speak 
very rapidly. I’ve something on my mind, and I want 
your help. Babbie isn’t here right now, but she may 
come back soon, so I must hurry. We have noticed, 
David and I, how disappointed she has been about this 
party. We had never realized that the poor child has 
never been to one, and we’ve decided to give her a 
party of her own. In a way, it’s to be a birthday party 
for both of you. Your birthday is the 22nd of April 
so we will have it half way between yours and Babbie’s, 
during the Easter holidays. It’s to be over at the 
Country Club, and we’ll have the best orchestra we can 
get! We’re planning on fifteen or twenty couples. Now, 
this is to be a secret from Babbie until we tell her in 
the afternoon of that day. We can’t have one of those 
surprise parties, with everyone appearing out of the 
darkness shouting, ‘Surprise.’ Something like that would 
scare the wits out of the child, and spoil her fun for 
the rest of the evening. Have you understood all I’ve 
said because I’ve talked so fast?” 


238 Almost Fifteen 

For a moment, Flopsy felt as though this were going 
to be like a dream in which she’d tried to scream and 
not even a squeak would come out. She moistened her 
lips and took a long, deep breath. 

“I heard every word. Every last word. It’s wonder¬ 
ful, it’s marvellous—it’s beautiful—it’s thrilling me to 
my toes! ” Her voice sang out, and Flopsy was relieved 
to find that she still had it. 

“Come right over, now, if you can. Babbie’s just 
sent a message that she won’t be home until later. We 
can make a few plans. You might suggest some names 
for me.” 

An hour later, Mrs. Moore walked into the house and 
heard a strange noise. It was the telephone! The re¬ 
ceiver was off the hook, and central was frantically try¬ 
ing to attract some one’s attention. 

She picked up the receiver, hung it on the hook, and 
looked around. 

“What in the world did Flopsy hear that sent her 
flying out of the house and made her leave the receiver 
off the hook? I wonder—?” 


Chapter Ten 

Flopsy’s First Evening Gown 

B ABBIE’S party was to be on the 6th of April, 
just about half way between her birthday, the 
20th of March, and Flopsy’s, on the 22nd of 
April. Never, during Flopsy’s whole life, of almost 
fifteen years, had she felt as important as she did dur¬ 
ing these weeks. She was consulted about everything. 
The entire list of guests was more or less her respon¬ 
sibility, as Molly Hilton Stewart had only a few sugges¬ 
tions to make. 

“We must ask Judith Weinstein because Babbie is 
very fond of her. And some of David’s friends have 
sons that he would like us to invite. I am sure that you 
girls won’t mind some new boys,” Mrs. Stewart said, 
with a smile. “It might add to the spice and excitement 
of the evening. Some of the older girls might like a col¬ 
lege boy or two.” 

Flopsy’s eyes opened wide. “Would they like to 
come to a party for a girl almost fifteen? Of course,” 
she went on hurriedly, “Babbie will be just over fifteen 
and—” 

“They might!” Molly Stewart grinned. “I shouldn’t 
be surprised. Remember, Rosemary and some of the 
other girls in your sorority are sixteen or seventeen. 
We will ask them anyway.” 


239 


240 Almost Fifteen 

“I suppose they will think that Babbie and I are 
just babies. But we’ll have boys enough of our own. 
Isn’t it funny that only a year ago last summer, I was 
wishing and wishing to be fifteen? Now that I am al¬ 
most there, I wish I were seventeen. I’m sure that 
when I get to be seventeen, I’ll think it’s the most 
perfect age of all, and I’ll want to stay there the rest 
of my life!” 

“But you won’t be able to, any more than at the 
moment you can be seventeen.” 

This conversation was in the Moore’s living room, as 
Molly Stewart dropped in quite often these days, for 
consultations. Babbie had no idea what was going 
on. Her sister always seemed to be running here, there 
and everywhere, but it never entered her head to in¬ 
quire. At the time, Babbie was too absorbed in her life 
at Hamilton, to wonder about anything else. 

For the past week Fleurette had been pledged. Alice, 
Flopsy, and Babbie had asked her, on the way to school 
one morning, if she would become their sorority sister 
and a member of the Alpha Gamma. Fleurette’s face 
had at first gone white. She was puzzled and confused. 
She didn’t know what to say. 

“Alpha Gamma!” she repeated blankly. Those were 
not the mocking letters she had been taunted with for 
several months. 

“Oh, the Delta Sigma Delta just blew up. In fact, the 
boys blew it up, though we hate to admit it. And when 
you’re a real Alpha Gamma, we’ll tell you the whole 
story. We are now Alpha Gammas,” Flopsy had ex¬ 
plained eagerly. 

Fleurette had looked from one face to another. Tears 


Flopsy's First Evening Gown 241 

came to her eyes, and then, suddenly, her face was 
radiant. The sun blazed through the mist, and with a 
choking laugh of pure joy, she asked, almost unbeliev¬ 
ingly, “It’s not the first of April yet?” 

“Oh, no!” Babbie protested, “we really want you in 
the sorority. We are really asking you. You wait and 
see if Rosemary Brewster doesn’t speak to you about 
it later in the day.” 

“Rosemary Brewster!” Fleurette’s color rushed to 
the roots of her hair. She stared at Flopsy, a direct 
question in her eyes. Rosemary Brewster? Could it 
be possible? 

Flopsy looked equally embarrassed, as she said ear¬ 
nestly, “Yes, Rosemary Brewster. She is our presi¬ 
dent, and she very much wants you in our sorority. 
Honestly, Fleurette!” 

“Oh, yes, she does, Fleurette. You have no idea what 
a good friend Rosemary can be. Believe us, she’s been 
a good friend to you,” Alice went on. “Some day you’ll 
know. Be very nice to Rosemary when she asks you.” 
Alice was insistent on this point. 

A little of the radiance had disappeared from Fleur¬ 
ette’s face. She was trying to smother a painful mem¬ 
ory that Rosemary’s name brought to her mind. 

Babbie had squeezed Alice’s arm and had shaken her 
head warningly. Fleurette must never, never know 
about Joan Bassett. Never! Babbie had felt that Alice 
would have liked to tell the whole story, for she wanted 
credit for her part in the conclusion of that tussle. 
Although, Alice felt more warmly toward Fleurette than 
ever before, some trace of her old feeling remained. She 
would have liked to give Fleurette just one last little 


242 Almost Fifteen 

dig. But she had seen that she would have Babbie to 
reckon with if she did. 

Fleurette had looked at Flopsy, feeling happy, proud, 
and almost completely satisfied, but why had Flopsy 
told her of Rosemary’s criticism? 

“I thought Flopsy said that Rosemary didn’t like 
me.” 

“Listen, Fleurette! Listen! Rosemary did like you, 
but some girl who had only spoken to you ■ once or 
twice caused the trouble. Rosemary said you had pretty 
eyes and pretty hair, don’t you remember? I thought 
it was Rosemary, but it wasn’t!” Flopsy left no doubt 
of her intense eagerness as she spoke. 

“Who is that girl?” Fleurette had asked slowly. 

“She graduated! ” Babbie had lied gallantly. “In fact, 
she hadn’t been a member for a long time. You’d feel 
proud if you knew what wonderful friends you have 
right now in the Alpha Gamma. And the best friend 
you ever had in your whole life is Flopsy.” 

“And Babbie and I are nearly as good,” Alice had 
put it. “Believe me!” 

Fleurette had been easy to convince. She wanted 
to believe all this. It made her supremely happy. And 
when Rosemary spoke to her, she was treading on air. 
Fleurette thought Rosemary was wonderful , and would 
never again feel humiliation at the sound of her name. 
But secretly, she hoped she would bite her tongue off 
if she ever said, “I done it,” or “I seen it,” before these 
sorority sisters. 

The girls were making extraordinary efforts these 
days to give Fleurette a good time. And Fleurette rev¬ 
eled in all the stunts they ordered her to do. Another 


Flopsy's First Evening Gown 243 

girl was to be initiated with her immediately after 
Easter holidays, but for the present Fleurette received 
the girls’ undivided attention. 

Molly Stewart had insisted that Babbie’s dance was 
not to be a sorority dance. And Flopsy could see what 
she meant, for some girls not in the sorority were to be 
invited, Judith, Mary Howard, Dottie Green, and Janet 
Dudley! Flopsy and Alice had decided that she must 
be invited, for, after all, she had invited them to her 
party. It certainly wasn’t her fault that her mother had 
spoiled it all by believing that she was sick enough to 
go away and leave Janet behind. 

When Flopsy entered her room these nights to do her 
homework, she put on the hostess gown, and rustled 
and floated around the room to a dance orchestra on the 
radio. Sometimes she pretended she was dancing with 
Wilton Locke, and sometimes with Milton Brooks. The 
most exciting and thrilling daydream was that she was 
dancing with a strange, fascinating boy who was a 
sophomore at Yale. She never once pretended to be 
dancing with Bill Forbes, though he had more than 
hinted that he would call for her. She’d have to dance 
with him. That was taken for granted. There was no 
sense in wasting a lovely make-believe dance on him! 

As she did her French translation, she often stopped 
to go over her list of guests. It was perfect beyond all 
of her most radiant dreams. This was better than if 
Janet had given the party. Flopsy would know almost 
everyone, except those mysterious and thrilling young 
friends of David’s. Janet would never have asked Wil¬ 
ton Locke or Bill Forbes or Fleurette. In fact, Janet’s 
list would have omitted nearly all of her real friends. 


244 Almost Fifteen 

How disappointed she had been when she received 
Janet’s letter. She had felt sunk! And now, she felt 
this was far, far better! And Janet couldn’t look down 
on anything. David Stewart was going to see that Bab¬ 
bie’s dance was perfect. No girl of fifteen could hope 
to attend a lovelier one, or dance to the rhythm of a 
more modern orchestra. 

It was hard, sometimes, to keep Babbie in complete 
ignorance, because her friends wanted to talk of noth¬ 
ing else. Every day there was some kind of a narrow 
escape. And after it, the near-villain went around say¬ 
ing “Did I nearly make a break!” Flopsy had the high¬ 
est record for these. 

One day she said before Babbie, “I hear Bill Forbes 
had bought a tuxedo. And am I thankful! Because all 
the boys—” and then Flopsy, her hand over her mouth, 
stared at Babbie in horror. Babbie looked completely 
puzzled, but she was far more puzzled by the gesture 
and expression than by the words. 

Another day, Flopsy exclaimed, “Miss Hilton left a 
pretty pair of gloves at my house yesterday! ” 

“What was Molly doing at your house? She didn’t 
tell me,” Babbie asked, “Isn’t that funny?” 

“Oh—o,” Flopsy faltered in dismay. “Didn’t she 
tell you? She was just passing, and she thought she’d 
stop in.” 

The worst episode of all was the time Flopsy informed 
them, “Janet wrote me a letter yesterday. And she is 
thrilled! She says it’s going to make up for her disap¬ 
pointment. She’s going to get a new evening dress, 
a beautiful one—” 

“What for? And why?” Babbie asked, puzzled. 


Flopsy’s First Evening Gown 245 

What are you talking about? You’ve all saying the 
funniest things lately. Is there a secret?” 

“Oh—Oh!” Flopsy gasped. This was terrible. This 
was the worst yet! “I think she’s going to another big 
dance during Easter week. But I’m really not sure 
what she meant.” 

Babbie shook her head. What was it all about? Was 
something going on she didn’t know about? But in a 
few minutes she had forgotten about it. 

Mrs. Moore asked Flopsy to try on her bridesmaid 
dress one Saturday morning, and Flopsy’s heart sank 
right down to her very boots. She was the picture of 
despair. Her mother couldn’t ask her to wear that to 
Babbie’s dance, could she? It was nearly two years old, 
and it was babyish. It had puffed sleeves and a high 
neck, and it must be miles and miles too short. 

“Oh, mother!” she wailed her protest, “I can’t wear 
it! It’s too short—it’s—” 

“Well, just try it on and see. Maybe I can do some¬ 
thing with it. The material is so beautiful and the 
color is perfect on you!” 

So Flopsy, sulking, tried it on. Before letting her 
mother see it, she stood on a chair before her mirror, 
and eyed her reflection with a deep frown of utter 
disgust. The dress was way above her ankles! The 
sleeves didn’t even fit! She yanked the skirt up so 
that it looked even worse! She twisted the whole dress 
about until it looked simply terrible! Then she called 
her mother with grim satisfaction. No mother who 
loved her child could ask her to wear this . She’d look 
like a girl in a funny movie, or like a baby, which was 
worse! 


246 Almost Fifteen 

Mrs. Moore came to the door, and right behind her 
was Mrs. Titmouse for she was intensely interested in 
all these preparations. 

“Doesn’t she look grand?” Mrs. Titmouse exclaimed. 
“Just sweet.” 

Mrs. Moore was staring at her daughter in dismay. 
Flopsy certainly did not look grand, and above all, she 
did not look “sweet.” She had never looked less sweet 
in her life. She very much resembled a thunderstorm, 
a tornado, a hurricane, and a tidal wave, all rolled into 
one! 

“Grand?” Flopsy blazed. “What’s grand about it, 
I’d like to know?” And she squirmed about so the 
dress hung in as unbecoming folds as possible. She 
hunched up her shoulders so that it was fully an inch 
shorter. 

“I wonder if we could let down some of the ruffles?” 
Mrs. Moore faltered. “We might cut—” 

“Cut it up into pieces!” Flopsy choked. 

Mr. Moore was leaving for business later than usual. 
Now he stuck his head into the room, and looked 
at his daughter in swift discernment. 

“What has given you that bright and cheery counte¬ 
nance?” he asked innocently. “I’m only fooling, my 
child. Your expression is not bright and cheery. It is 
well that your small brothers aren’t here to see you at 
the moment, for you’d give them nightmares for months 
to come.” 

“It’s this old dress. It’s all wrong. I wanted a new 
one for Babbie’s dance,” she complained stormily. 

“It doesn’t look quite right as it is. In fact, it doesn’t 
look right at all,” Mrs, Moore admitted with a sigh. 


Flopsy’s First Evening Gown 247 

Mr. Moore dug down into his pocket, and pulled out 
a billfold. 

“Any father must expect to make a sacrifice for his 
almost fifteen-year-old daughter, his only daughter, so 
I’ll contribute to a fund for a new dress. I’ll go with¬ 
out my lunch for a week.” He laid a couple of dollar 
bills on Flopsy’s desk. It was his favorite little joke. 
He was always “going without lunch,” to buy this or 
that for his wife, children or home. “We can’t risk 
having her go off to the dance with that expression. 
She might curdle the lemonade.” 

Mrs. Moore laughed. She had very little hope that 
this dress would do. 

“That will help. And I’ll do without a new row of 
dahlias I was planning for the garden.” Her eyes were 
twinkling. 

“And here’s another dollar!” Mr. Moore expanded. 
“I’ll do without my lunch for another week.” 

“And I won’t buy those seeds I planned for that small 
garden near the garage.” 

“And here goes all my loose change,” and Mr. Moore 
turned his pockets inside out and scattered coins over 
his bills. 

“Well, I do declare!” exclaimed Mrs. Titmouse. 
“She’s a mighty lucky girl, I’m telling everybody. And 
spoiled, if you ask me.” But no one had asked her, 
and no one cared at the moment. 

Flopsy flew through the air with the greatest of ease 
and landed in her father’s arms, and then her mother’s. 
They were waiting for her, those two pairs of arms. 

“I’m so happy, I could cry—” and she did. 

“I hope that some day, some kind and considerate 


248 Almost Fifteen 

person will explain slowly and carefully to me, why my 
daughter always cries when she is supremely happy. 
I can’t quite understand.” Mr. Moore’s expression, 
however, belied his words. For once he did understand. 
He felt very pleased with himself, and his own eyes 
and his wife’s were a little bit misty. Both were look¬ 
ing forward to this party almost as much as Flopsy. 
Her ardor and her wild excitement were extremely con¬ 
tagious. No one near could escape being infected with 
it. Even Mrs. Titmouse had had to stop her work from 
time to time to hear some new and exciting detail. 

“Tell me, Flopsy, should I take out insurance on you, 
or a raincheck, or what should I do to guard myself 
against a heavy financial loss? You may decide, at the 
last moment, to knock over a telegraph pole with your 
nose, or knock out a few teeth. I don’t think you’ll 
try for another black eye, but you might discover a way 
to destroy your ‘beauty.’ ” His tongue was in his cheek 
at this last word, and he winked at his wife. “We must 
do something, your mother and I, to guard our invest¬ 
ment in this new dress.” 

“Oh, daddy, I can’t go sleigh riding now. It’s spring. 
Please don’t worry!” 

“Don’t worry, eh?” Mr. Moore shook his head. 
“You say that very lightly and glibly, my darling. It 
might deceive some one who did not know you. You 
have no idea how resourceful you are when it comes to 
putting an accident through to a lurid conclusion. 
Whether it’s winter, summer, spring or fall, doesn’t 
hinder you one bit!” 

That very afternoon, Mrs. Moore took her daughter 
to the city to buy her new dress. Flopsy was wriggling 


Flopsy’s First Evening Gown 249 

with ecstasy. Her first real, party frock! Her first 
evening dress! Mrs. Moore was driving the family car. 

“Now listen, Flopsy, unless you keep perfectly still 
for a few minutes, your father’s fantastic prophecy 
about knocking over a telephone pole will become a hor¬ 
rid reality. I can’t keep my mind on my driving if you 
chatter incessantly, and you know I am not the world’s 
most experienced driver.” Just at that second, a car 
turned out of a side street unexpectedly, and Mrs. 
Moore put her foot down on the brakes, turned the 
wheel, and skidded toward a telegraph pole! 

“There now!” Mrs. Moore exclaimed, her face white 
with fear. But Flopsy was several shades whiter. 
Wouldn’t it have been terrible? She never opened her 
mouth again during the balance of the trip, nor breathed 
easily again until they were out of the car. She couldn’t, 
simply couldn’t, be cheated out of this dance! 

The dress they bought, so beautiful, so lovely, and 
so perfect that Flopsy was smothered into speechless¬ 
ness, was an exquisite shade of aquamarine blue. It 
was made of mousseline de soie, and it floated about her 
as she walked. But above all, it came right down to the 
floor! At the waist of this creation was a cluster of pale 
yellow daisies! 

“It’s a beautiful dress!” Flopsy gurgled on the way 
home. That was all she could say, for then she went off 
into a blissful state of seraphic daydreaming. 

On the afternoon of the breathlessly awaited dance, 
the telephone rang every few minutes. It was Alice, 
it was Fleurette, it was Rosemary, it was Molly Stewart, 
it was almost everyone that Flopsy had ever heard of! 
But, at last, it was Babbie herself. Her voice sounded 


250 Almost Fifteen 

so excited that at first Flopsy could scarcely understand 
her. But the gist of it was that she knew everything 
now. And at last she understood the reason for the 
mysterious broken sentences of the previous weeks. 
Everyone had stopped in the middle of whatever they 
were saying, as soon as she had approached. It had all 
been very confusing. 

“Oh, Flopsy! My mother’s here. She came last 
night. She flew, all the way from Rawhide.” Flopsy 
knew how much this meant to Babbie, for Mrs. Hilton, 
because of business, had not been able to come East 
with Babbie for Christmas. “And, Flopsy, just wait 
until you hear! I just went up to my bedroom and can 
you guess what was lying on the bed? Please guess!” 

“Oh, I give up!” Flopsy gurgled in her own excite¬ 
ment. To the last of her days she would hate “guess¬ 
ing.” She wanted to know , and right away. 

“A dress! The loveliest, prettiest, most beautiful 
dress you ever saw. It’s white net and it floats!” 

“Not like soap?” Flopsy demanded. 

“Oh, don’t be a goose! ” Babbie teased with a tinkling 
little laugh. “It floats about me when I put it on. It’s 
the prettiest, loveliest, most beautiful dress you ever 
saw!” 

“And it’s white and it floats.” Flopsy repeated, and 
both girls giggled hilariously. 

“Now, I know everything. I know all about the 
dance. I know why you’ve all been so silly and funny 
lately. And, Flopsy, my dress is right down to the 
ground. It touches the ground. You can’t see my feet.” 

“And so is mine!” Flopsy echoed. “I keep saying 
that over and over, and daddy makes fun of me. He 


Flopsy’s First Evening Gown 251 

can’t see why I want to hide my feet at a dance, he says 
they are very important things to have with one at a 
dance! And now, the boys will only know I have them 
when I squeal when they step on them!” 

“Oh, I can’t go on talking, even if I’d love to. Molly 
says I should rest now. And I’ve got so much to do. 
She’s right beside me and she says to remember that 
you are to be at the club with me before anyone else 
comes. This is your birthday party, too, and you myst 
help me receive the guests. Oh, Flopsy, never in my 
life was I so excited, and so happy and so thrilled.” 

At last that moment of enchantment arrived, that ex¬ 
quisite and always to be remembered delight, dressing 
for one’s first dance! It is a moment of such intense, 
yet delicate joy, that it is quite beyond words. Flopsy 
never once stopped chattering, and chirping like a 
bird. Odd words—no sentences ever finished—light and 
quick like the staccato notes in music. 

“Oh, those flowers! The club is so beautiful! It’s 
gorgeous!—Wasn’t that exciting about Milton?— 
He wants me to save a lot of dances—Aren’t my eve¬ 
ning sandals gorgeous—I guess I won’t need rouge— 
my cheeks are so pink—the orchestra is going to play 
until one o’clock—Alice’s dress is peach—not a peach 
—but peach-colored—Janet, I hear, has a beautiful 
evening wrap—but mine’s cute—I’m going to brush 
my hair until it shines—it does shine, doesn’t it mother? 
—I am glad I can have light pink polish on my nails— 
I hope no one will notice that I broke one last week! 
—They say Janet uses lip stick!—The table on which 
the supper is going to be is simply marvellous—You 
should see the silver candlesticks—And I never saw 


252 Almost Fifteen 

so many flowers—We are going to have favors— 
What do you think? Old man Bates is going to be there? 
You remember he used to be president of the Board 
of Education, and scared us when we were at Number 
Nine—Oh, I mean Mr. Bates, of course!—Of course, 
I meant to say Mister! —He’s David’s uncle—And 
he adores dances—especially for youngsters—I wonder 
how Bill will look in a ‘tuck?’—Won’t Babbie be 
thrilled when she sees Judith? I know I shall get dances 
with those college boys for it’s my party, too.—I won¬ 
der if Janet will try to get Milton back again, she used 
to like him at Number Nine—Fleurette’s dress is the 
sweetest rose color—Daddy was fooled—I didn’t get a 
black eye—or break my nose.” 

She was chirping bird-like most of the time, but at 
times she was more reminiscent of Tennyson’s babbling 
brook, for men might come and men might go, but 
Flopsy, on that evening of her first dance, could go on 
forever. 

Mrs. Titmouse had asked if she could see Flopsy in 
her first party dress, and so had the Moore’s neighbors, 
a childless couple, Mr. and Mrs. Randall. 

Flopsy could now hear them all talking and laugh¬ 
ing downstairs. They were waiting for her. Her heart 
was beating out the rhythm of a bright and lilting song. 
She took one last loving look at her own reflection. 
Her lips were parted breathlessly. She couldn’t quite 
believe—she couldn’t believe that this radiant creature 
was just everyday Flopsy Moore. But it was, it must 
be! There wouldn’t be any sense to it if it were not so. 
Her mirror was telling a beautiful truth, and she could 
hardly wait now to show it to the audience waiting for 


Flopsy’s First Evening Gown 253 

her. She flew out of her door and halfway down the 
stairs, but just before she reached the turn, she stopped 
short on the landing. Daintily holding up her long 
skirts, she descended the stairs with gracious dignity. 
She was now in full view of her waiting audience. Once 
she had seen a fashion show in a department store, and 
she recalled just how the mannikins had held their heads, 
and how they held their outstretched arms. With, what 
she felt must be great charm and grace, she slowly 
walked into the center of the living room and posed. 

“How do I look?” she asked. 

“Oh!” 

“Ah!” 

“Oh, you’re beautiful, you’re grand. You’ll be the 
belle of the ball,” Mrs. Titmouse exclaimed. 

The others could scarcely find words to express their 
admiration. 

“Won’t you get tired, Flopsy?” 

“Tired?” Flopsy blankly echoed her father’s query, 
but she had not changed her pose. 

“Tired, holding your arms like that all evening? It 
would never do to get cramps in them,” but his eyes 
denied any implied concern for her well-being. He was 
quite overcome with pride. Nothing could mar the per¬ 
fection of this evening ahead of his lovely daughter. 

She dropped her arms, and looked eagerly from face 
to face. They did think she looked lovely. Oh, they 
did! Mrs. Moore gathered her daughter in her arms. 

“You are very, very sweet, my darling. Just every¬ 
thing that an almost fifteen girl should be. You are 
going to have a beautiful evening.” Her eyes were misty, 
and her voice had a little catch in it. 


254 Almost Fifteen 

Mr. Moore looked from Mr. Randall to Mrs. Ran¬ 
dall. “Come! Come!” his eyes were saying, “tell us 
that you think we have a very beautiful little daughter.” 

Mrs. Randall wiped one finger across her cheek. 
Would you believe it, Mr. Moore thought, she’s wiping 
away a tear? She turned her face towards her husband. 

“She’s quite too lovely for words. And she brings 
one back—” She broke off and her voice, too, had a 
catch in it. 

The doorbell rang. Flopsy flew to open it. She 
mustn’t keep Bill waiting. He had to see her at once. 
Bill just looked at her, and then kept his eyes on the 
others. He mustn’t let them see he was quite overcome 
by Flopsy’s radiant loveliness. 

Bill was quite proud of himself, too. He felt he was a 
suitable partner for any girl tonight. His hair was beau¬ 
tifully groomed for the first time in his life. His mother 
and father had told him just before he left that he 
looked, if not handsome (and who wanted to be a pretty 
boy?), at least very good looking, and every inch a 
gentleman! 

It had taken both his parents to get him into his first 
tuxedo. He did not feel humble before Flopsy’s beauty, 
only a little self-conscious. He must not let anyone see 
just how satisfied he felt with his own appearance. 
Only girls could expect compliments! He pulled off 
his white scarf and slipped off his topcoat. They must 
see his perfection! 

“Not a bad looking pair!” Mr. Moore grinned, look¬ 
ing from one to the other. “And I hear an important 
one, the president and vice president of the Sophomore A 
class of Alexander Hamilton High School! What do 


Flopsy’s First Evening Gown 255 

you think of that, Mrs. Randall?” he asked proudly. 

Bill took Flopsy’s little evening wrap which she had 
picked up, and helped her into it. His voice sounded 
very strange in her ears. He hadn’t felt natural and 
quite himself, after he had seen himself in the mirror. 

“We’ve got to get going. Mr. Stewart’s chauffeur 
is waiting for us outside. We have to get there first.” 

Flopsy had forgotten that her mother and father 
were to be at the country club later. After all, this 
party was to be in their daughter’s honor, and they had 
to meet her guests. It would be a sight they would not 
miss for all the world. 

Just as Flopsy had kissed them each goodbye for the 
third time, she begged eagerly: 

“Try to be awake when I get home. I want to tell 
you all about it before I go to sleep.” 

“Oh, my darling. Of course, of course, I shall be 
waiting! And breathlessly. It will be the sweetest story 
I have ever heard.” 





















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